
Book- , L 3 

Copyrights? 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



TALES J0 

FROM SHAKESPEARE 



CHARLES AND MARY LAMB 



WITH AN INTRODUCTORY NOTE BY 

ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS WARD 



ILLUSTRATED BY PEN DRAWINGS AFTER THE DESIGNS BY 
H. PILLE, ETCHED BY L. MONZIES 



* . i 2 . . - > - 

t .. v i t o } t> to ] a i ' 



'■ '' - 

< - 



BOSTON, U.S.A. 
D. C. HEATH & CO., PUBLISHERS 

1901 



THE LIBRARY OF 


CONGRESS, 


Two Coeita Received 


SEP. 26 1901 


^COPVRIRHT ENTRY 


20fljfc*»?4.'f*/ 


CLASS Ou XXc. N*>. 


/76£o 


COPY 3. 



Copyright, 1901, 
By D. C. Heath & Co. 






Iplimpton press 

V. M PLIMPTON & CO., PRINTERS & BINDERS, 
NORWOOD, MASS., U.S.A. 



AUTHOR'S PREFACE. 

The following Tales are meant to be submitted to the young 
reader as an introduction to the study of Shakspeare, for which 
purpose his words are used whenever it seemed possible to bring 
them in ; and in whatever has been added to give them the 
regular form of a connected story, diligent care has been taken 
to select such words as might least interrupt the effect of the 
beautiful English tongue in which he wrote ; therefore, words 
introduced into our language since his time have been as far as 
Possible avoided. 

In those tales which have been taken from the Tragedies, the 
young readers will perceive, when they come to see the source 
from which these stories are derived, that Shakspeare's own words, 
with little alteration, recur very frequently in the narrative as well 
as in the dialogue ; but in those made from the Comedies the 
writers found themselves scarcely ever able to turn his words into 
the narrative form : therefore it is feared that, in them, dialogue 
has been made use of too frequently for young people not accus- 
tomed to the dramatic form of writing. But this fault, if it be a 
fault, has been caused by an earnest wish to give as much of 
Shakspeare's own words as possible; and if the "He said," and 
" She said" the question and the reply, should sometimes seem 
tedious to their young ears, they must pardon it, because it was 
the only way in which could be given to them a few hints and 
little foretastes of the great pleasure which awaits them in their 
elder years, when they come to the rich treasures from which 
these small and valueless coins are extracted ; pretending to no 
other merit than as faint and imperfect stamps of Shakspeare's 



viii Author's Preface. 

matchless image. Faint and imperfect images. they must be 
called, because the beauty of his language is too frequently 
destroyed by the necessity of changing many of his excellent 
words into words far less expressive of his true sense, to make it 
read something like prose ; and even in some few places, where 
his blank verse is given unaltered, as hoping from its simple plain- 
ness to cheat the young readers into the belief that they are 
reading prose, yet still his language being transplanted from its 
own natural soil and wild poetic garden, it must want much of 
its native beauty. 

It has been wished to make these Tales easy reading for very 
young children. To the utmost of their ability the writers have 
constantly kept this in mind ; but the subjects of most of them 
made this a very difficult task. It was no easy matter to give the 
histories of men and women in terms familiar to the apprehension 
of a very young mind. For young ladies too it has been the 
intention chiefly to write ; because boys being generally permitted 
the use of their father's libraries at a much earlier age than girl( 
are, they frequently have the best scenes of Shakspeare by heart 
before their sisters are permitted to look into this manly book ; 
and, therefore, instead of recommending these Tales to the 
perusal of young gentlemen who can read them so much better 
in the originals, their kind assistance is rather requested in ex- 
plaining to their sisters such parts as are hardest for them to 
understand : and when they have helped them to get over the 
difficulties, then perhaps they will read to them (carefully select- 
ing what is proper for a young sister's ear) some passage which 
has pleased them in one of these stories, in the very words of the 
scene from which it is taken ; and it is hoped they will find 
that the beautiful extracts, the select passages, they may choose 
to give their sisters in this way will be much better relished and 
understood from their having some notion of the general story 
from one of these imperfect abridgments; — which if they be 
fortunately so done as to prove delightful to any of the young 
readers, it is hoped that no worse effect will result than to make 
them wish themselves a little older that they may be allowed to 



PREFACE. 

When Charles and Mary Lamb took the contract with 
Godwin's bookseller (for three hundred dollars) to turn 
twenty of Shakespeare's plays into children's stories, they 
little imagined that they were about to win what might be 
called a collaborate immortality for their matchless work. 

This book was written nearly a hundred years ago (in 
1809), and yet, in spite of a century's changes in the hab- 
its of the times, the value of the work seems to appreciate 
as years roll on. This is due partly to our advanced 
standards of education. One of the most interesting 
points in Lamb's introduction is his reference to the posi- 
tion of girls in his day. Girls had little chance then to 
acquire anything like what we should now call an edu- 
cation. They depended largely on the kindness and 
condescension of their elder brothers for the crumbs of 
knowledge which they were allowed to gather. 

These Tales were planned in part for the education of 
young ladies who were not allowed to peruse the " manly 
book " till later in life. But the Shakespeare stories of 
Charles and Mary Lamb have always been, and will always 
be, eagerly read by men and women, old and young. Per- 
haps the oldest and the manliest minds will be found most 
ready to acknowledge their debt to this remarkable book. 

Shakespeare may not always be easy to read, nor always 
easy to understand, even for older people. But the Tales 
are. They unfold plot and counterplot with simplicity 

iii 



iv Preface. 

and exquisite skill. The study of character (which in 
itself has created libraries of commentaries, and therefore 
much confusion) under the sympathetic pens of these 
authors is evolved with a shrewd, critical insight that it 
would be difficult for the most learned of Shakespeare 
students to surpass. Mary Lamb was not only a woman 
of exquisite delicacy, but she was a keen observer of 
human nature ; and Charles was not only a supreme liter- 
ary artist, but he was a profound student. Thus it hap- 
pens that this little volume has become a classic. 

To most of us the Elizabethan age is only a gaudy 
dream. These Tales make real life of it. The people 
talk and move, and the great dramatist is a living man. 
Shakespeare is a vast imposing structure, set about with 
statuary, decorated with paintings, and crowded with spec- 
tators and with worshippers. 

The Tales of Charles and Mary Lamb are a beautiful 
portico through which young people, and many old ones, 
can approach the master's mind and work with ease and 
with delight. 

Nothing finer than the words of Lamb can be offered to 
define the Plays of Shakespeare : "... enrichers of the 
fancy, strengtheners of virtue, a withdrawing from all 
selfish and mercenary thoughts, a lesson of all sweet and 
honourable thoughts and actions ; to teach courtesy, benig- 
nity, generosity, humanity : for of examples teaching these 
virtues his pages are full." 

ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS WARD. 

Newton Centre, Mass. 



J* 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Introduction iii 

List of Illustrations vi 

Author's Preface . . vii 

The Tempest 3 

A Midsummer Night's Dream 16 

The Winter's Tale 32 

uch Ado about Nothing 49 

As You Like It 64 

The Two Gentlemen of Verona 87 

Twelfth Night 103 

Macbeth 122 

JCing Lear 137 

The Merchant of Venice . .157 

Timon of Athens 174 

All's Well that Ends Well 191 

.Hamlet, Prince of Denmark 211 

Othello 231 

Romeo and Juliet 249 

The Taming of the Shrew 271 

The Comedy of Errors 285 

Pericles, Prince of Tyre 303 

Note 322 

Pronunciation of Proper Names 324 

v 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

The Tempest 2 

A Midsummer Night's Dream 17 (/ 

The Winter's Tale 33 

Much Ado about Nothing 48 ! 

As You Like It 65 • 

The Two Gentlemen of Verona . 86 

Twelfth Night 103 /*"' 

Macbeth 122 { 

King Lear 137 

The Merchant of Venice 157 

Timon of Athens . . 174 

All's Well that Ends Well 191 

Hamlet 209 

Othello 230 

Romeo and Juliet 248 

The Taming of the Shrew 270 

The Comedy of Errors v 284 f* 

Pericles • . 302 



Tales from Shakspeare 



THE TEMPEST 

There was a certain island in the sea, the only inhabit- 
ants of which were an old man, whose name was Prospero, 
and his daughter Miranda, a very beautiful young lady. 
She came to this island so young, that she had no memory 
of having seen any other human face than her father's. 

They lived in a cave or cell, made out of a rock ; it was 
divided into several apartments, one of which Prospero 
called his study ; there he kept his books, which chiefly 
treated of magic, a study at that time much affected by all 
learned men : and the knowledge of this art he found very 
useful to him ; for being thrown by a strange chance upon 
this island, which had been enchanted by a witch called 
Sycorax, who died there a short time before his arrival, 
Prospero, by virtue of his art, released many good spirits 
that Sycorax had imprisoned in the bodies of large trees, 
because they had refused to execute her wicked commands. 
These gentle spirits were ever after obedient to the will of 
Prospero. Of these Ariel was the chief. 

The lively little sprite Ariel had nothing mischievous in 
his nature, except that he took rather too much pleasure in 
tormenting an ugly monster called Caliban, for he owed 
him a grudge because he was the son of his old enemy 
Sycorax. This Caliban, Prospero found in the woods, a 
strange misshapen thing, far less human in form than an 

3 



4 Tales from Shakspeare 

ape : he took him home to his cell, and taught him to 
speak ; and Prospero would have been very kind to him, 
but the bad nature which Caliban inherited from his 
mother Sycorax, would not let him learn anything good or 
useful : therefore he was employed like a slave, to fetch 
wood, and do the most laborious offices ; and Ariel had the 
charge of compelling him to these services. 

When Caliban was lazy and neglected his work, Ariel 
(who was invisible to all eyes but Prospero's) would come 
slyly and pinch him, and sometimes tumble him down in 
the mire ; and then Ariel, in the likeness of an ape, would 
make mouths at him. Then swiftly changing his shape, 
in the likeness of a hedgehog, he would lie tumbling in 
Caliban's way, who feared the hedgehog's sharp quills 
would prick his bare feet. With a variety of such-like 
vexatious tricks Ariel would often torment him, whenever 
Caliban neglected the work which Prospero commanded 
him to do. 

Having these powerful spirits obedient to his will, Pros- 
pero could by their means command the winds, and the 
waves of the sea. By his orders they raised a violent 
storm, in the midst of which, and struggling with the wild 
sea-waves that every moment threatened to swallow it up, 
he showed his daughter a fine large ship, which he told 
her was full of living beings like themselves. " O my 
dear father," said she, "if by your art you have raised this 
dreadful storm, have pity on their sad distress. See ! the 
vessel will be dashed to pieces. Poor souls ! they will all 
perish. If I had power, I would sink the sea beneath the 
earth, rather than the good ship should be destroyed, with 
all the precious souls within her." 

" Be not so amazed, daughter Miranda," said Prospero; 
" there is no harm done. I have so ordered it, that no per- 
son in the ship shall receive any hurt. What I have done 



The Tempest 5 

has been in care of you, my dear child. You are ignorant 
who you are, or where you came from, and you know no more 
of me, but that I am your father, and live in this poor cave. 
Can you remember a time before you came to this cell ? I 
think you cannot, for you were not then three years of age." 

" Certainly I can, sir," replied Miranda. 

" By what ? " asked Prospero ; " by any other house or 
person ? Tell me what you can remember, my child." 

Miranda said, " It seems to me like the recollection of a 
dream. But had I not once four or five women who at- 
tended upon me ? " 

Prospero answered, " You had, and more. How is it 
that this still lives in your mind ? Do you remember how 
you came here ? " 

" No, sir," said Miranda, " I remember nothing more." 

" Twelve years ago, Miranda," continued Prospero, " I 
was duke of Milan, and you were a princess, and my only 
heir. I had a younger brother, whose name was Antonio, 
to whom I trusted everything ; and as I was fond of retire- 
ment and deep study, I commonly left the management of 
my state affairs to your uncle, my false brother (for so 
indeed he proved). I, neglecting all worldly ends, buried 
among my books, did dedicate my whole time to the bet- 
tering of my mind. My brother Antonio being thus in 
possession of my power, began to think himself the duke 
indeed. The opportunity I gave him of making himself 
popular among my subjects awakened in his bad nature a 
proud ambition to deprive me of my dukedom : this he 
soon effected with the aid of the king of Naples, a power- 
ful prince, who was my enemy." 

" Wherefore," said Miranda, " did they not that hour 
destroy us ? " 

" My child," answered her father, "they durst not, so 
dear was the love that my people bore me. Antonio car- 



6 Tales from Shakspeare 

ried us on board a ship, and when we were some leagues 
out at sea, he forced us into a small boat, without either 
tackle, sail, or mast : there he left us, as he thought, to 
perish. But a kind lord of my court, one Gonzalo, who 
loved me, had privately placed in the boat, water, provi- 
sions, apparel, and some books which I prize above my 
dukedom." 

" O my father," said Miranda, " what a trouble must I 
have been to you then ! " 

" No, my love," said Prospero, " you were a little cherub 
that did preserve me. Your innocent smiles made me to 
bear up against my misfortunes. Our food lasted till we 
landed on this desert island, since when my chief delight 
has been in teaching you, Miranda, and well have you 
profited by my instructions." 

" Heaven thank you, my dear father," said Miranda. 
" Now pray tell me, sir, your reason for raising this sea- 
storm ? " 

"Know then," said her father, "that by means of this 
storm, my enemies, the king of Naples, and my cruel 
brother, are cast ashore upon this island." 

Having so said, Prospero gently touched his daughter 
with his magic wand, and she fell fast asleep ; for the 
spirit Ariel just then presented himself before his master, 
to give an account of the tempest, and how he had disposed 
of the ship's company, and though the spirits were always 
invisible to Miranda, Prospero did not choose, she should 
hear him holding converse (as would seem to her) with 
the empty air. 

"Well, my brave spirit," said Prospero to Ariel, "how 
have you performed your task ? " 

Ariel gave a lively description of the storm, and of the 
terrors of the mariners ; and how the king's son, Ferdi- 
nand, was the first who leaped into the sea ; and his father 



The Tempest 7 

thought he saw his dear son swallowed up by the waves 
and lost. " But he is safe," said Ariel, " in a corner of 
the isle, sitting with his arms folded, sadly lamenting the 
loss of the king, his father, whom he concludes drowned. 
Not a hair of his head is injured, and his princely gar- 
ments, though drenched in the sea-waves, look fresher 
than before." 

"That's my delicate Ariel," said Prospero. "Bring 
him hither : my daughter must see this young prince. 
Where is the king, and my brother ? " 

"I left them," answered Ariel, "searching for Ferdi- 
nand, whom they have little hopes of finding, thinking 
they saw him perish. Of the ship's crew, not one is 
missing; though each one thinks himself the only one 
saved : and the ship, though invisible to them, is safe in 
the harbor." 

"Ariel," said Prospero, "thy charge is faithfully per- 
formed : but there is more work yet." 

" Is there more work ? " said Ariel. " Let me remind 
you, master, you have promised me my liberty. I pray 
remember I have done you worthy service, told you no 
lies, made no mistakes, served you without grudge or 
grumbling." 

"How now!" said Prospero. "You do not recollect 
what a torment I freed you from. Have you forgot the 
wicked witch Sycorax, who with age and envy was almost 
bent double? Where was she born? Speak; tell me." 

" Sir, in Algiers," said Ariel. 

" O was she so ? " said Prospero. " I must recount 
what you have been, which I find you do not remember. 
This bad witch, Sycorax, for her witchcrafts, too terrible to 
enter human hearing, was banished from Algiers, and here 
left by the sailors ; and because you were a spirit too deli- 
cate to execute her wicked commands, she shut you up in 



8 Tales from Shakspeare 

a tree, where I found you howling. This torment, remem- 
ber, I did free you from." 

" Pardon me, dear master," said Ariel, ashamed to seem 
ungrateful; " I will obey your commands." 

" Do so," said Prospero, " and I will set you free." He 
then gave orders what further he would have him do ; and 
away went Ariel, first to where he had left Ferdinand, and 
found him still sitting on the grass in the same melancholy 
posture. 

" O my young gentleman," said Ariel, when he saw 
him, " I will soon move you. You must be brought, I 
find, for the Lady Miranda to have a sight of your pretty 
person. Come, sir, follow me." He then began singing : — 

" Full fathom five thy father lies : 

Of his bones are coral made ; 
Those are pearls that were his eyes : 

Nothing of him that doth fade 
But doth suffer a sea-change 
Into something rich and strange. 
Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell : 
Hark ! now I hear them, — Ding-dong, bell." 

This strange news of his lost father soon roused the 
prince from the stupid fit into which he had fallen. He 
followed in amazement the sound of Ariel's voice, till it 
led him to Prospero and Miranda, who were sitting under 
the shade of a large tree. Now Miranda had never seen 
a man before, except her own father. 

" Miranda," said Prospero, " tell me what you are looking 
at yonder." 

" O father," said Miranda, in a strange surprise, "surely 
that is a spirit. Lord ! how it looks about ! Believe me, 
sir, it is a beautiful creature. Is it not a spirit ? " 

"No, girl," answered her father; "it eats, and sleeps, 
and has senses such as we have. This young man you 



The Tempest 9 

see was in the ship. He is somewhat altered by grief, or 
you might call him a handsome person. He has lost his 
companions, and is wandering about to find them." 

Miranda, who thought all men had grave faces and 
gray beards like her father, was delighted with the ap- 
pearance of this beautiful young prince ; and Ferdinand, 
seeing such a lovely lady in this desert place, and from 
the strange sounds he had heard, expecting nothing but 
wonders, thought he was upon an enchanted island, and 
that Miranda was the goddess of the place, and as such 
he began to address her. 

She timidly answered, she was no goddess, but a simple 
maid, and was going to give him an account of herself, 
when Prospero interrupted her. He was well pleased to 
find they admired each other, for he plainly perceived they 
had (as we say) fallen in love at first sight : but to try 
Ferdinand's constancy, he resolved to throw some diffi- 
culties in their way : therefore advancing forward, he 
addressed the prince with a stern air, telling him, he came 
to the island as a spy, to take it from him who was the 
lord of it. "Follow me," said he, "I will tie you neck 
and feet together. You shall drink sea-water ; shell-fish, 
withered roots, and husks of acorns shall be your food." 
"No," said Ferdinand, "I will resist such entertainment, 
till I see a more powerful enemy," and drew his sword ; 
but Prospero, waving his magic wand, fixed him to the 
spot where he stood, so that he had no power to move. 

Miranda hung upon her father, saying, " Why are you 
so ungentle ? Have pity, sir ; I will be his surety. This is 
the second man I ever saw, and to me he seems a true one." 

"Silence," said the father, "one word more will make 
me chide you, girl ! What ! an advocate for an impostor ! 
You think there are no more such fine men, having seen 
only him and Caliban. I tell you, foolish girl, most men 



io Tales from Shakspeare 

as far excel this, as he does Caliban." This he said to 
prove his daughter's constancy ; and she replied, " My 
affections are most humble. I have no wish to see a 
goodlier man." 

" Come on, young man," said Prospero to the prince ; 
"you have no power to disobey me." 

" I have not indeed," answered Ferdinand ; and not 
knowing that it was by magic he was deprived of all 
power of resistance, he was astonished to find himself 
so strangely compelled to follow Prospero ; looking back 
on Miranda as long as he could see her, he said, as he went 
after Prospero into the cave, " My spirits are all bound up, 
as if I were in a dream ; but this man's threats, and the 
weakness which I feel, would seem light to me if from 
my prison I might once a day behold this fair maid." 

Prospero kept Ferdinand not long confined within the 
cell : he soon brought out his prisoner, and set him a 
severe task to perform, taking care to let his daughter 
know the hard labor he had imposed on him, and then 
pretending to go into his study, he secretly watched them 
both. 

Prospero had commanded Ferdinand to pile up some 
heavy logs of wood. Kings' sons not being much used 
to laborious work, Miranda soon after found her lover 
almost dying with fatigue. " Alas ! " said she, " Do not 
work so hard ; my father is at his studies, he is safe for 
these three hours ; pray rest yourself." 

" O my dear lady," said Ferdinand, "I dare not. I 
must finish my task before I take my rest." 

" If you will sit down," said Miranda, " I will carry your 
logs the while." But this Ferdinand would by no means 
agree to. Instead of a help Miranda became a hindrance, 
for they began a long conversation, so that the business 
of log-carrying went on very slowly. 



The Tempest 1 1 

Prospero, who had enjoined Ferdinand this task merely 
as a trial of his love, was not at his books, as his daughter 
supposed, but was standing by them invisible, to overhear 
what they said. 

Ferdinand inquired her name, which she told, saying it 
was against her father's express command she did so. 

Prospero only smiled at this first instance of his daughter's 
disobedience, for having by his magic art caused his daugh- 
ter to fall in love so suddenly, he was not angry that she 
showed her love by forgetting to obey his commands. 
And he listened well pleased to a long speech of Ferdi- 
nand's, in which he professed to love her above all the 
ladies he ever saw. 

In answer to his praises of her beauty, which he said 
exceeded all the women in the world, she replied, " I do 
not remember the face of any woman, nor have I seen any 
more men than you, my good friend, and my dear father. 
How features are abroad, I know not; but, believe me, 
sir, I would not wish any companion in the world but you, 
nor can my imagination form any shape but yours that 
I could like. But, sir, I fear I talk to you too freely, and 
my father's precepts I forget." 

At this Prospero smiled, and nodded his head, as much 
as to say, " This goes on exactly as I could wish ; my 
girl will be queen of Naples." 

And then Ferdinand, in another fine long speech (for 
young princes speak in courtly phrases), told the innocent 
Miranda he was heir to the crown of Naples, and that she 
should be his queen. 

" Ah ! sir," said she, " I am a fool to weep at what I am 
glad of. I will answer you in plain and holy innocence. 
I am your wife if you will marry me." 

Prospero prevented Ferdinand's thanks by appearing 
visible before them. 



12 Tales from Shakspeare 

" Fear nothing, my child," said he ; "I have overheard, 
and approve of all you have said. And, Ferdinand, if I 
have too severely used you, I will make you rich amends, 
by giving you my daughter. All your vexations were but 
trials of your love, and you have nobly stood the test. 
Then as my gift, which your true love has worthily pur- 
chased, take my daughter, and do not smile that I boast 
she is above all praise." He then, telling them that he 
had business which required his presence, desired they 
would sit down and talk together till he returned; and 
this command Miranda seemed not at all disposed to 
disobey. 

When Prospero left them, he called his spirit Ariel, 
who quickly appeared before him, eager to relate what he 
had done with Prospero's brother and the king of Naples. 
Ariel said he had left them almost out of their senses with 
fear, at the strange things he had caused them to see and 
hear. When fatigued with wandering about, and famished 
for want of food, he had suddenly set before them a deli- 
cious banquet, and then, just as they were going to eat, he 
appeared visible before them in the shape of a harpy, a 
voracious monster with wings, and the feast vanished 
away. Then, to their utter amazement, this seeming harpy 
spoke to them, reminding them of their cruelty in driving 
Prospero from his dukedom, and leaving him and his infant 
daughter to perish in the sea ; saying, that for this cause 
these terrors were suffered to afflict them. 

The king of Naples, and Antonio the false brother, 
repented the injustice they had done to Prospero ; and 
Ariel told his master he was certain their penitence was 
sincere, and that he, though a spirit, could not but pity 
them. 

" Then bring them hither, Ariel," said Prospero : " if 
you, who are but a spirit, feel for their distress, shall not 



The Tempest ij 

I, who am a human being like themselves, have compas- 
sion on them ? Bring them, quickly, my dainty Ariel." 

Ariel soon returned with the king, Antonio, and old 
Gonzalo in their train, who had followed him, wondering 
at the wild music he played in the air to draw them on to 
his master's presence. This Gonzalo was the same who 
had so kindly provided Prospero formerly with books and 
provisions, when his wicked brother left him, as he 
thought, to perish in an open boat in the sea. 

Grief and terror had so stupefied their senses, that they 
did not know Prospero. He first discovered himself to 
the good old Gonzalo, calling him the preserver of his life ; 
and then his brother and the king knew that he was the 
injured Prospero. 

Antonio with tears, and sad words of sorrow and true 
repentance, implored his brother's forgiveness, and the 
king expressed his sincere remorse for having assisted 
Antonio to depose his brother : and Prospero forgave 
them ; and, upon their engaging to restore his dukedom, 
he said to the king of Naples, " I have a gift in store for 
you too ; " and opening a door, showed him his son Ferdi- 
nand playing at chess with Miranda. 

Nothing could exceed the joy of the father and the son 
at this unexpected meeting, for they each thought the 
other drowned in the storm. 

" O wonder!" said Miranda, "what noble creatures 
these are ! It must surely be a brave world that has such 
people in it." 

The king of Naples was almost as much astonished at 
the beauty and excellent graces of the young Miranda, as 
his son had been. "Who is this maid?" said he; "she 
seems the goddess that has parted us, and brought us 
thus together." " No, sir," answered Ferdinand, smiling 
to find his father had fallen into the same mistake that he 



14 Tales from Shakspeare 

had done when he first saw Miranda, " she is a mortal, 
but by the immortal Providence she is mine ; I chose her 
when I could not ask you, my father, for your consent, 
not thinking you were alive. She is the daughter to this 
Prospero, who is the famous duke of Milan, of whose 
renown I have heard so much, but never saw him till now : 
of him I have received a new life : he has made himself 
to me a second father, giving me this dear lady." 

"Then I must be her father," said the king; "but 
oh ! how oddly will it sound, that I must ask my child 
forgiveness." 

" No more of that," said Prospero : " let us not remember 
our troubles past, since they so happily have ended." And 
then Prospero embraced his brother, and again assured him 
of his forgiveness ; and said that a wise overruling Provi- 
dence had permitted that he should be driven from his 
poor dukedom of Milan, that his daughter might inherit 
the crown of Naples, for that by their meeting in this 
desert island, it had happened that the king's son had 
loved Miranda. 

These kind words which Prospero spoke, meaning to 
comfort his brother, so filled Antonio with shame and 
remorse, that he wept and was unable to speak ; and the 
kind old Gonzalo wept to see this joyful reconciliation, 
and prayed for blessings on the young couple. 

Prospero now told them that their ship was safe in the 
harbor, and the sailors all on board her, and that he and 
his daughter would accompany them home the next morn- 
ing. " In the meantime," says he, "partake of such 
refreshments as my poor cave affords ; and for your even- 
ing's entertainment I will relate the history of my life 
from my first landing in this desert island." He then 
called for Caliban to prepare some food, and set the cave 
in order ; and the company were astonished at the uncouth 



The Tempest 15 

form and savage appearance of this ugly monster, who 
(Prospero said) was the only attendant he had to wait 
upon him. 

Before Prospero left the island, he dismissed Ariel from 
his service, to the great joy of that lively little spirit ; who, 
though he had been a faithful servant to his master, was 
always longing to enjoy his free liberty, to wander uncon- 
trolled in the air, like a wild bird, under green trees, 
among pleasant fruits, and sweet-smelling flowers. " My 
quaint Ariel," said Prospero to the little sprite when he 
made him free, " I shall miss you ; yet you shall have 
your freedom." "Thank you, my dear master," said 
Ariel; "but give me leave to attend your ship home with 
prosperous gales, before you bid farewell to the assistance 
of your faithful spirit ; and then, master, when I am free, 
how merrily I shall live ! " Here Ariel sung this pretty 

song : — 

" Where the bee sucks, there suck I ; 

In a cowslip's bell I lie : 

There I couch when owls do cry. 

On the bat's back I do fly 

After summer merrily. 

Merrily, merrily shall I live now 

Under the blossom that hangs on the bough. 1 ' 

Prospero then buried deep in the earth his magical books 
and wand, for he was resolved never more to make use of 
the magic art. And having thus overcome his enemies, 
and being reconciled to his brother and the king of Naples, 
nothing now remained to complete his happiness, but to 
revisit his native land, to take possession of his dukedom, 
and to witness the happy nuptials of his daughter and 
Prince Ferdinand, which the king said should be instantly 
celebrated with great splendor on their return to Naples. 
At which place, under the safe convoy of the spirit Ariel, 
they, after a pleasant voyage, soon arrived. 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM 

There was a law in the city of Athens which gave to its 
citizens the power of compelling their daughters to marry 
whomsoever they pleased ; for upon a daughter's refusing 
to marry the man her father had chosen to be her husband, 
the father was empowered by this law to cause her to be 
put to death ; but as fathers do not often desire the death 
of their, own daughters, even though they do happen to 
prove a little refractory, this law was seldom or never put 
in execution, though perhaps the young ladies of that city 
were not unfrequently threatened by their parents with the 
terrors of it. 

There was one instance, however, of an old man, whose 
name was Egeus, who actually did come before Theseus 
(at that time the reigning duke of Athens), to complain 
that his daughter Hermia, whom he had commanded to 
marry Demetrius, a young man of a noble Athenian 
family, refused to obey him, because she loved another 
young Athenian, named Lysander. Egeus demanded 
justice of Theseus, and desired that this cruel law might 
be put in force against his daughter. 

Hermia pleaded in excuse for her disobedience, that 
Demetrius had formerly professed love for her dear friend 
Helena, and that Helena loved Demetrius to distraction ; 
but this honorable reason, which Hermia gave for not 
obeying her father's command, moved not the stern 
Egeus. 

Theseus, though a great and merciful prince, had no 
power to alter the laws of his country ; therefore he could 

16 










A Midsummer Night's Dream 



A Midsummer Night's Dream 19 

only give Hermia four days to consider of it : and at the 
end of that time, if she still refused to marry Demetrius, 
she was to be put to death. 

When Hermia was dismissed from the presence of the 
duke, she went to her lover Lysander, and told him the 
peril she was in, and that she must either give him up and 
marry Demetrius, or lose her life in four days. 

Lysander was in great affliction at hearing these evil 
tidings ; but recollecting that he had an aunt who lived at 
some distance from Athens, and that at the place where 
she lived the cruel law could not be put in force against 
Hermia (this law not extending beyond the boundaries of 
the city), he proposed to Hermia that she should steal out 
of her father's house that night, and go with him to his 
aunt's house, where he would marry her. " I will meet 
you," said Lysander, " in the wood a few miles without 
the city ; in that delightful wood where we have so often 
walked with Helena in the pleasant month of May." 

To this proposal Hermia joyfully agreed; and she told 
no one of her intended flight but her friend Helena. Hel- 
ena (as maidens will do foolish things for love) very 
ungenerously resolved to go and tell this to Demetrius, 
though she could hope no benefit from betraying her 
friend's secret, but the poor pleasure of following her 
faithless lover to the wood ; for she well knew that Deme- 
trius would go thither in pursuit of Hermia. 

The wood in which Lysander and Hermia proposed to 
meet was the favorite haunt of those little beings known 
by the name of Fairies. 

Oberon the king, and Titania the queen of the Fairies, 
with all their tiny train of followers, in this wood held their 
midnight revels. 

Between this little king and queen of sprites there hap- 
pened, at this time, a sad disagreement ; they never 



20 Tales from Shakspeare 

met by moonlight in the shady walks of this pleasant 
wood, but they were quarrelling, till all their fairy elves 
would creep into acorn-cups and hide themselves for fear. 

The cause of this unhappy disagreement was Titania's 
refusing to give Oberon a little changeling boy, whose 
mother had been Titania's friend.; and upon her death the 
fairy queen stole the child from its nurse, and brought him 
up in the woods. 

The night on which the lovers were to meet in this 
wood, as Titania was walking with some of her maids of 
honor, she met Oberon attended by his train of fairy 
courtiers. 

" 111 met by moonlight, proud Titania," said the fairy 
king. The queen replied, " What, jealous Oberon, is it 
you ? Fairies, skip hence ; I have forsworn his company." 
"Tarry, rash fairy," said Oberon; "am not I thy lord? 
Why does Titania cross her Oberon ? Give me your little 
changeling boy to be my page." 

" Set your heart at rest," answered the queen ; " your 
whole fairy kingdom buys not the boy of me." She then 
left her lord in great anger. " Well, go your way," said 
Oberon ; "before the morning dawns I will torment you for 
this injury." 

Oberon then sent for Puck, his chief favorite and privy 
counsellor. 

Puck (or as he was sometimes called, Robin Goodfellow) 
was a shrewd and knavish sprite, that used to play comical 
pranks in the neighboring villages ; sometimes getting 
into the dairies and skimming the milk, sometimes plung- 
ing his light and airy form into the butter-churn, and while 
he was dancing his fantastic shape in the churn, in vain the 
dairy-maid would labor to change her cream into butter ; 
nor had the village swains any better success ; whenever 
Puck chose to play his freaks in the brewing copper, the 



A Midsummer Night's Dream 21 

ale was sure to be spoiled. When a few good neighbors 
were met to drink some comfortable ale together, Puck 
would jump into the bowl of ale in the likeness of a roasted 
crab, and when some old goody was going to drink, he 
would bob against her lips, and spill the ale over her with- 
ered chin ; and presently after, when the same old dame 
was gravely seating herself to tell her neighbors a sad and 
melancholy story, Puck would slip her three-legged stool 
from under her, and down toppled the poor old woman, 
and then the old gossips would hold their sides and laugh 
at her, and swear they never wasted a merrier hour. 

"Come hither, Puck," said Oberon to this little merry 
wanderer of the night ; " fetch me the flower which maids 
call Love in Idleness ; the juice of that little purple flower 
laid on the eyelids of those who sleep, will make them, 
when they awake, dote on the first thing they see. Some 
of the juice of that flower I will drop on the eyelids of my 
Titania when she is asleep : and the first thing she looks 
upon when she opens her eyes she will fall in love with, 
even though it be a lion or a bear, a meddling monkey or 
a busy ape ; and before I will take this charm from off her 
sight, which I can do with another charm I know of, I will 
make her give me that boy to be my page." 

Puck, who loved mischief to his heart, was highly di- 
verted with this intended frolic of his master, and ran to 
seek the flower ; and while Oberon was waiting the return 
of Puck, he observed Demetrius and Helena enter the 
wood : he overheard Demetrius reproaching Helena for fol- 
lowing him, and after many unkind words on his part, and 
gentle expostulations from Helena, reminding him of his 
former love and professions of true faith to her, he left her 
(as he said) to the mercy of the wild beasts, and she ran 
after him as swiftly as she could. 

The fairy king, who was always friendly to true lovers, 



22 Tales from Shakspeare 

felt great compassion for Helena ; and perhaps, as Ly- 
sander said they used to walk by moonlight in this pleas- 
ant wood, Oberon might have seen Helena in those happy 
times when she was beloved by Demetrius. However that 
might be, when Puck returned with the little purple flower, 
Oberon said to his favorite, " Take a part of this flower ; 
there has been a sweet Athenian lady here, who is in love 
with a disdainful youth ; if you find him sleeping, drop 
some of the love-juice in his eyes, but contrive to do it 
when she is near him, that the first thing he sees when he 
awakes may be this despised lady. You will know the 
man by the Athenian garments which he wears." Puck 
promised to manage this matter very dexterously : and 
then Oberon went, unperceived by Titania, to her bower, 
where she was preparing to go to rest. Her fairy bower 
was a bank, where grew wild thyme, cowslips, and sweet 
violets, under a canopy of woodbine, musk-roses, and 
eglantine. There Titania always slept some part of the 
night ; her coverlet the enamelled skin of a snake, which, 
though a small mantle, was wide enough to wrap a fairy 
in. 

He found Titania giving orders to her fairies, how they 
were to employ themselves while she slept. " Some of 
you," said her majesty, " must kill cankers in the musk- 
rose buds, and some wage war with the bats for their 
leathern wings, to make my small elves coats ; and some 
of you keep watch' that the clamorous owl, that nightly 
hoots, come not near me: but first sing me to sleep." 
Then they began to sing this song : — 

" You spotted snakes with double tongue. 
Thorny hedgehogs, be not seen ; 
Newts and blind-worms do no wrong, 
Come not near our Fairy Queen. 
Philomel, with melody, 



A Midsummer Night's Dream 23 

Sing in our sweet lullaby, 

Lulla, lulla, lullaby ; lulla, lulla, lullaby ; 

Never harm, nor spell, nor charm, 

Come our lovely lady nigh ; 

So good night with lullaby." 

When the fairies had sung their queen asleep with this 
pretty lullaby, they left her to perform the important ser- 
vices she had enjoined them. Oberon then softly drew 
near his Titania, and dropped some of the love-juice on her 
eyelids, saying, — 

" What thou seest when thou dost wake. 
Do it for thy true-love take. 11 

But to return to Hermia, who made her escape out of 
her father's house that night, to avoid the death she was 
doomed to for refusing to marry Demetrius. When she 
entered the wood, she found her dear Lysander waiting 
for her, to conduct her to his aunt's house; but before they 
had passed half through the wood, Hermia was so much 
fatigued, that Lysander, who was very careful of this dear 
lady, who had proved her affection for him even by hazard- 
ing her life for his sake, persuaded her to rest till morning 
on a bank of soft moss, and lying down himself on the 
ground at some little distance, they soon fell fast asleep. 
Here they were found by Puck, who, seeing a handsome 
young man asleep, and perceiving that his clothes were 
made in the Athenian fashion, and that a pretty lady was 
sleeping near him, concluded that this must be the Athe- 
nian maid and her disdainful lover whom Oberon had sent 
him to seek; and he naturally enough conjectured that, as 
they were alone together, she must be the first thing he 
would see when he awoke ; so, without more ado, he pro- 
ceeded to pour some of the juice of the little purple flower 
into his eyes. But it so fell out, that Helena came that 



24 Tales from Shakspeare 

way, and, instead of Hermia, was the first object Lysander 
beheld when he opened his eyes ; and strange to relate, so 
powerful was the love-charm, all his love for Hermia van- 
ished away, and Lysander fell in love with Helena. 

Had he first seen Hermia when he awoke, the blunder 
Puck committed would have been of no consequence, for 
he could not love that faithful lady too well ; but for 
poor Lysander to be forced by a fairy love-charm to 
forget his own true Hermia, and to run after another 
lady, and leave Hermia asleep quite alone in a wood at 
midnight, was a sad chance indeed. 

Thus this misfortune happened. Helena, as has been 
before related, endeavored to keep pace with Demetrius 
when he ran away so rudely from her ; but she could not 
continue this unequal race long, men being always better 
runners in a long race than ladies. Helena soon lost 
sight of Demetrius ; and as she was wandering about, 
dejected and forlorn, she arrived at the place where 
Lysander was sleeping. "Ah!" said she, "this is Ly- 
sander lying on the ground : is he dead or asleep ? " 
Then, gently touching him, she said, " Good sir, if you 
are alive, awake." Upon this Lysander opened his eyes, 
and (the love-charm beginning to work) immediately 
addressed her in terms of extravagant love and admira- 
tion ; telling her she as much excelled Hermia in beauty 
as a dove does a raven, and that he would run through 
fire for her sweet sake ; and many more such lover-like 
speeches. Helena, knowing Lysander was her friend 
Hermia's lover, and that he was solemnly engaged to 
marry her, was in the utmost rage when she heard her- 
self addressed in this manner ; for she thought (as well 
she might) that Lysander was making a jest of her. 
"Oh!" said she, "why was I born to be mocked and 
scorned by every one ? Is it not enough, is it not enough, 



A Midsummer Night's Dream 25 

young man, that I can never get a sweet look or a kind 
word from Demetrius ; but you, sir, must pretend in this 
disdainful manner to court me ? I thought, Lysander, you 
were a lord of more true gentleness." Saying these words 
in great anger, she ran away ; and Lysander followed her, 
quite forgetful of his own Hermia, who was still asleep. 

When Hermia awoke, she was in a sad fright at find- 
ing herself alone. She wandered about the wood, not 
knowing what was become of Lysander, or which way 
to go to seek for him. In the meantime, Demetrius, not 
being able to find Hermia and his rival Lysander, and 
fatigued with his fruitless search, was observed by Oberon 
fast asleep. Oberon had learnt by some questions he had 
asked of Puck, that he had applied the love-charm to the 
wrong person's eyes ; and now having found the person 
first intended, he touched the eyelids of the sleeping 
Demetrius with the love-juice, and he instantly awoke ; 
and the first thing he saw being Helena, he, as Lysander 
had done before, began to address love-speeches to her ; 
and just at that moment Lysander, followed by Hermia 
(for through Puck's unlucky mistake it was now become 
Hermia's turn to run after her lover), made his appear- 
ance ; and then Lysander and Demetrius, both speaking 
together, made love to Helena, they being each one 
under the influence of the same potent charm. 

The astonished Helena thought that Demetrius, Lysan- 
der, and her once dear friend Hermia, were all in a plot 
together to make a jest of her. 

Hermia was as much surprised as Helena : she knew 
not why Lysander and Demetrius, who both before loved 
her, were now become the lovers of Helena ; and to 
Hermia the matter seemed to be no jest. 

The ladies, who before had always been the dearest 
of friends, now fell to high words together. 



26 Tales from Shakspeare 

" Unkind Hermia," said Helena, "it is you have set 
Lysander on to vex me with mock praises ; and your 
other lover, Demetrius, who used almost to spurn me 
with his foot, have you not bid him call me Goddess, 
Nymph, rare, precious, and celestial ? He would not 
speak thus to me, whom he hates, if you did not set 
him on to make a jest of me. Unkind Hermia, to join 
with men in scorning your poor friend. Have you for- 
got our school-day friendship ? How often, Hermia, have 
we two, sitting on one cushion, both singing one song, 
with our needles working the same flower, both on the 
same sampler wrought ; growing up together in fashion 
of a double cherry, scarcely seeming parted ? Hermia, 
it is not friendly in you, it is not maidenly to join with 
men in scorning your poor friend." 

"I am amazed at your passionate words," said Hermia: 
"I scorn you not; it seems you scorn me." "Ay, do," 
returned Helena, " persevere, counterfeit serious looks, 
and make mouths at me when I turn my back ; then 
wink at each other, and hold the sweet jest up. If you 
had any pity, grace, or manners, you would not use me 
thus." ' 

While Helena and Hermia were speaking these angry 
words to each other, Demetrius and Lysander left them, 
to fight together in the wood for the love of Helena. 

When they found the gentlemen had left them, they 
departed, and once more wandered weary in the wood 
in search of their lovers. 

; As soon as they were gone, the fairy king, who with 
little Puck had been listening to their quarrels, said to 
him, " This is your negligence, Puck ; or did you do this 
wilfully ? " " Believe me, king of shadows," answered 
Puck, " it was a mistake ; did not you tell me I should 
know the man by his Athenian garments? However, I 



A Midsummer Night's Dream 27 

am not sorry this has happened, for I think their jan- 
gling makes excellent sport." "You heard," said Oberon, 
" that Demetrius and Lysander are gone to seek a con- 
venient place to fight in. I command you to overhang 
the night with a thick fog, and lead these quarrelsome 
lovers so astray in the dark, that they shall not be able 
to find each other. Counterfeit each of their voices to 
the other, and with bitter taunts provoke them to follow 
you. while they think it is their rival's tongue they hear. 
See you do this, till they are so weary they can go no 
farther ; and when you find they are asleep, drop the 
juice of this other flower into Lysander's eyes, and when 
he awakes he will forget his new love for Helena, and 
return to his old passion for Hermia; and then the two 
fair ladies may each one be happy with the man she 
loves, and they will think all that has passed a vexatious 
dream. About this quickly, Puck, and I will go and see 
what sweet love my Titania has found." 

Titania was still sleeping, and Oberon seeing a clown 
near her, who had lost his way in the wood, and was 
likewise asleep: "This fellow," said he, "shall be my 
Titania's true love ; " and clapping an ass's head over 
the clown's, it seemed to fit him as well as if it had 
grown upon his own shoulders. Though Oberon fixed 
the ass's head on very gently, it awakened him, and ris- 
ing up, unconscious of what Oberon had done to him, 
he went towards the bower where the fairy queen slept. 

"Ah! what angel is that I see?" said Titania, opening 
her eyes, and the juice of the little purple flower beginning 
to take effect : " are you as wise as you are beautiful ? " 

"Why, mistress," said the foolish clown, "if I have wit 
enough to find the way out of this wood, I have enough to 
serve my turn." 

"Out of the wood do not desire to go," said the enam- 



28 Tales from Shakspeare 

oured queen. " I am a spirit of no common rate. I love 
you. Go with me, and I will give you fairies to attend 
upon you." 

She then called four of her fairies : their names were, 
Pease-blossom, Cobweb, Moth, and Mustard-seed. 

"Attend," said the queen, "upon this sweet gentleman; 
hop in his walks, and gambol in his sight ; feed him with 
grapes and apricots, and steal for him the honey-bags from 
the bees. Come, sit with me," said she to the clown, " and 
let me play with your amiable hairy cheeks, my beautiful 
ass ! and kiss your fair large ears, my gentle joy ! " 

"Where is Pease-blossom?" said the ass-headed clown, 
not much regarding the fairy queen's courtship, but very 
proud of his new attendants. 

" Here, sir," said little Pease-blossom. 

"Scratch my head," said the clown. "Where is Cob- 
web ? " 

"Here, sir," said Cobweb. 

" Good Mr. Cobweb," said the foolish clown, " kill me 
the red humble bee on the top of that thistle yonder ; and, 
good Mr. Cobweb, bring me the honey-bag. Do not fret 
yourself too much in the action, Mr. Cobweb, and take 
care the honey-bag break not ; I should be sorry to have 
you overflown with a honey-bag. Where is Mustard-seed ? " 

" Here, sir," said Mustard-seed : " what is your will ? " 

"Nothing," said the clown, "good Mr. Mustard-seed, 
but to help Mr. Pease-blossom to scratch ; I must go to a 
barber's, Mr. Mustard-seed, for methinks I am marvellous 
hairy about the face." 

" My sweet love," said the queen, " what will you have 
to eat? I have a venturous fairy shall seek the squirrel's 
hoard, and fetch you some new nuts." 

" I had rather have a handful of dried pease," said the 
clown, who with his ass's head had got an ass's appetite. 



A Midsummer Night's Dream 29 

" But, I pray, let none of your people disturb me, for I 
have a mind to sleep." 

" Sleep, then," said the queen, " and I will wind you in 
my arms. O how I love you ! how I dote upon you ! " 

When the fairy king saw the clown sleeping in the arms 
of his queen, he advanced within her sight, and reproached 
her with having lavished her favors upon an ass. 

This she could not deny, as the clown was then sleeping 
within her arms, with his ass's head crowned by her with 
flowers. 

When Oberon had teased her for some time, he again 
demanded the changeling-boy ; which she, ashamed of 
being discovered by her lord with her new favorite, did 
not dare to refuse him. 

Oberon, having thus obtained the little boy he had so 
long wished for to be his page, took pity on the disgraceful 
situation into which, by his merry contrivance, he had 
brought his Titania, and threw some of the juice of the 
other flower into her eyes ; and the fairy queen immedi- 
ately recovered her senses, and wondered at her late dotage, 
saying how she now loathed the sight of the strange mon- 
ster. 

Oberon likewise took the ass's head from off the clown, 
and left him to finish his nap with his own fool's head 
upon his shoulders. 

Oberon and his Titania being now perfectly reconciled, 
he related to her the history of the lovers, and their mid- 
night quarrels ; and she agreed to go with him and see the 
end of their adventures. 

The fairy king and queen found the lovers and their 
f air ladies, at no great distance from each other, sleeping 
on a grass-plot ; for Puck, to make amends for his former 
mistake, had contrived with the utmost diligence to bring 
them all to the same spot, unknown to each other ; and he 



30 Tales from Shakspeare 

had carefully removed the charm from off the eyes of 
Lysander with the antidote the fairy king gave to him. 

Hermia first awoke, and finding her lost Lysander asleep 
so near her, was looking at him and wondering at his strange 
inconstancy. Lysander presently opening his eyes, and see- 
ing his dear Hermia, recovered his reason which the fairy 
charm had before clouded, and with his reason, his love for 
Hermia; and they began to talk over the adventures of the 
night, doubting if these things had really happened, or if 
they had both been dreaming the same bewildering dream. 

Helena and Demetrius were by this time awake ; and a 
sweet sleep having quieted Helena's disturbed and angry 
spirits, she listened with delight to the professions of love 
which Demetrius still made to her, and which, to her sur- 
prise as well as pleasure, she began to perceive were sincere. 

These fair night-wandering ladies, now no longer rivals, 
became once more true friends ; all the unkind words which 
had passed were forgiven, and they calmly consulted to- 
gether what was best to be done in their present situation. 
It was soon agreed that, as Demetrius had given up his 
pretensions to Hermia, he should endeavor to prevail upon 
her father to revoke the cruel sentence of death which had 
been passed against her. Demetrius was preparing to 
return to Athens for this friendly purpose, when they were 
surprised with the sight of Egeus, Hermia's father, who 
came to the wood in pursuit of his runaway daughter. 

When Egeus understood that Demetrius would not now 
marry his daughter, he no longer opposed her marriage 
with Lysander, but gave his consent that they should be 
wedded on the fourth day from that time, being the same 
day on which Hermia had been condemned to lose her 
life ; and on that same day Helena joyfully agreed to marry 
her beloved and now faithful Demetrius. 

The fairy king and queen, who were invisible spectators 



A Midsummer Night's Dream 31 

of this reconciliation, and now saw the happy ending 
of the lovers' history, brought about through the good 
offices of Oberon, received so much pleasure, that these 
kind spirits resolved to celebrate the approaching nuptials 
with sports and revels throughout their fairy kingdom. 

And now, if any are offended with this story of fairies 
and their pranks, as judging it incredible and strange, they 
have only to think that they have been asleep and dream- 
ing, and that all these adventures were visions which they 
saw in their sleep : and I hope none of my readers will be 
so unreasonable as to be offended with a pretty harmless 
Midsummer Night's Dream. 



THE WINTER'S TALE 

Leontes, king of Sicily, and his queen, the beautiful 
and virtuous Hermione, once lived in the greatest har- 
mony together. So happy was Leontes in the love of this 
excellent lady, that he had no wish ungratified, except that 
he sometimes desired to see again, and to present to his 
queen, his old companion and school-fellow, Polixenes, 
king of Bohemia. Leontes and Polixenes were brought 
up together from their infancy, but being, by the death 
of their fathers, called to reign over their respective king- 
doms, they had not met for many years, though they fre- 
quently interchanged gifts, letters, and loving embassies. 

At length, after repeated invitations, Polixenes came 
from Bohemia to the Sicilian court, to make his friend 
Leontes a visit. 

At first this visit gave nothing but pleasure to Leontes. 
He recommended the friend of his youth to the queen's 
particular attention, and seemed in the presence of his 
dear friend and old companion to have his felicity quite 
completed. They talked over old times ; their school-days 
and their youthful pranks were remembered, and recounted 
to Hermione, who always took a cheerful part in these 
conversations. 

When, after a long stay, Polixenes was preparing to 
depart, Hermione, at the desire of her husband, joined her 
entreaties to his that Polixenes would prolong his visit. 

And now began this good queen's sorrow; for Polixenes 
refusing to stay at the request of Leontes, was won over 
by Hermione's gentle and persuasive words to put off his 

32 




The Winter's Tale 



The Winter's Tale 35 

departure for some weeks longer. Upon this, although 
Leontes had so long known the integrity and honorable 
principles of his friend Polixenes, as well as the excellent 
disposition of his virtuous queen, he was seized with an 
ungovernable jealousy. Every attention Hermione showed 
to Polixenes, though by her husband's particular desire, 
and merely to please him, increased the unfortunate king's 
jealousy ; and from being a loving and a true friend, and 
the best and fondest of husbands, Leontes became sud- 
denly a savage and inhuman monster. Sending for Ca- 
miilo, one of* the lords of his court, and telling him of the 
suspicion he entertained, he commanded him to poison 
Polixenes. 

Camillo was a good man ; and he, well knowing that the 
jealousy of Leontes had not the slightest foundation in 
truth, instead of poisoning Polixenes, acquainted him with 
the king his master's orders, and agreed to escape with 
him out of the Sicilian dominions ; and Polixenes, with the 
assistance of Camillo, arrived safe in his own kingdom of 
Bohemia, where Camillo lived from that time in the king's 
court, and became the chief friend and favorite of Po- 
lixenes. 

The flight of Polixenes enraged the jealous Leontes still 
more ; he went to the queen's apartment, where the good 
lady was sitting with her little son Mamillus, who was just 
beginning to tell one of his best stories to amuse his mother, 
when the king entered, and taking the child away, sent Her- 
mione to prison. 

Mamillus, though but a very young child, loved his 
mother tenderly ; and when he saw her so dishonored, 
and found she was taken from him to be put into a prison, 
he took it deeply to heart, and drooped and pined away by 
slow degrees, losing his appetite and his sleep, till it was 
thought his grief would kill him. 



36 Tales from Shakspeare 

The king, when he had sent his queen to prison, com- 
manded Cleomenes and Dion, two Sicilian lords, to go to 
Delphos, there to inquire of the oracle at the temple of 
Apollo if his queen had been unfaithful to him. 

The poor lady received much comfort from the sight 
of her pretty baby daughter who was born in the prison, 
and she said to it, " My poor little prisoner, I am as inno- 
cent as you are." 

Hermione had a kind friend in the noble-spirited Pau- 
lina, who was the wife of Antigonus, a Sicilian lord ; and 
when the lady Paulina heard of the new daughter born to 
her royal mistress, she went to the prison where Hermione 
was confined ; and she said to Emilia, a lady who attended 
upon Hermione, " I pray you, Emilia, tell the good queen, 
if her majesty dare trust me with her little babe, I will 
carry it to the king, its father ; we do not know how he 
may soften at the sight of his innocent child." " Most 
worthy madam," replied Emilia, "I will acquaint the queen 
with your noble offer ; she was wishing to-day that she had 
any friend who would venture to present the child to the 
king." "And tell her," said Paulina, "that I will speak 
boldly to Leontes in her defence." " May you be forever 
blessed," said Emilia, " for your kindness to our gracious 
queen ! " Emilia then went to Hermione, who joyfully 
gave up her baby to the care of Paulina, for she had 
feared that no one would dare venture to present the child 
to its father. 

Paulina took the new-born infant, and forcing herself 
into the king's presence, notwithstanding her husband, 
fearing the king's anger, endeavored to prevent her, she 
laid the babe at its father's feet ; and Paulina made a noble 
speech to the king in defence of Hermione, and she 
reproached him severely for his inhumanity, and implored 
him to have mercy on his innocent wife and child. But 



The Winter's Tale 37 

Paulina's spirited remonstrances only aggravated Leontes' 
displeasure, and he ordered her husband Antigonus to take 
her from his presence. 

When Paulina went away, she left the little baby at 
its father's feet, thinking when he was alone with it, 
he would look upon it, and have pity on its helpless 
innocence. 

The good Paulina was mistaken : for no sooner was 
she gone than the merciless father ordered Antigonus, 
Paulina's husband, to take the child and carry it out to 
sea, and leave it upon some desert shore to perish. 

Antigonus, unlike the good Camillo, too well obeyed 
the orders of Leontes ; for he immediately carried the 
child on ship-board, and put out to sea, intending to leave 
it on the first desert coast he could find. 

So firmly was the king persuaded of the guilt of Her- 
mione, that he would not wait for the return of Cleomenes 
and Dion, whom he had sent to consult the oracle of 
Apollo at Delphos ; but before the queen was recovered 
from her grief for the loss of her precious baby, he 
had , her brought to a public trial before all the lords 
and nobles of his court. And when all the great lords, 
the judges, and all the nobility of the land were assem- 
bled together to try Hermione, and that unhappy queen 
was standing as a prisoner before her subjects to re- 
ceive their judgment, Cleomenes and Dion entered the 
assembly, and presented to the king the answer of the 
oracle, sealed up ; and Leontes commanded the seal to 
be broken and the words of the oracle to be read aloud, 
and these were the words : — " Hermione is innocent, 
Polixenes blameless, Camillo a true subject, Leontes a 
jealous tyrant, and the king shall live without an heir if 
that which is lost be not found." The king would give no 
credit to the words of the oracle : he said it was a false- 



38 Tales from Shakspeare 

hood invented by the queen's friends, and he desired the 
judge to proceed in the trial of the queen ; but while 
Leontes was speaking, a man entered and told him that 
the prince Mamillus, hearing his mother was to be tried 
for her life, struck with grief and shame, had suddenly 
died. 

Hermione, upon hearing of the death of this dear affec- 
tionate child, who had lost his life in sorrowing for her 
misfortune, fainted ; and Leontes, pierced to the heart by 
the news, began to feel pity for his unhappy queen, and 
he ordered Paulina, and the ladies who were her attend- 
ants, to take her away, and use means for her recovery. 
Paulina soon returned, and told the king that Hermione 
was dead. 

When Leontes heard that the queen was dead, he re- 
pented of his cruelty to her; and now that he thought 
his ill-usage had broken Hermione's heart, he believed her 
innocent ; and now he thought the words of the oracle 
were true, as he knew " if that which was lost was not 
found," which he concluded was his young daughter, he 
should be without an heir, the young prince Mamillus 
being dead ; and he would give his kingdom now to re- 
cover his lost daughter : and Leontes gave himself up to 
remorse, and passed many years in mournful thoughts and 
repentant grief. 

The ship in which Antigonus carried the infant princess 
out to sea was driven by a storm upon the coast of 
Bohemia, the very kingdom of the good king Polixenes. 
Here Antigonus landed, and here he left the little baby. 

Antigonus never returned to Sicily, to tell Leontes 
where he had left his daughter, for as he was going back to 
the ship, a bear came out of the woods, and tore him to 
pieces ; a just punishment on him for obeying the wicked 
order of Leontes. 



The Winter's Tale 39 

The child was dressed in rich clothes and jewels; for 
Hermione had made it very fine when she sent it to 
Leontes, and Antigonus had pinned a paper to its mantle, 
and the name of Perdita written thereon, and words 
obscurely intimating its high birth and untoward fate. 

This poor deserted baby was found by a shepherd. He 
was a humane man, and so he carried the little Perdita 
home to his wife, who nursed it tenderly ; but poverty 
tempted the shepherd to conceal the rich prize he had 
found : therefore he left that part of the country, that no 
one might know where he got his riches, and with part of 
Perdita's jewels he bought herds of sheep, and became a 
wealthy shepherd. He brought up Perdita as his own 
child, and she knew not she was any other than a shep- 
herd's daughter. 

The little Perdita grew up a lovely maiden ; and though 
she had no better education than that of a shepherd's 
daughter, yet so did the natural graces she inherited from 
her royal mother shine forth in her untutored mind, that 
no one from her behavior would have known she had not 
been brought up in her father's court. 

Polixenes, the king of Bohemia, had an only son whose 
name was Florizel. As this young prince was hunting 
near the shepherd's dwelling, he saw the old man's sup- 
posed daughter ; and the beauty, modesty, and queen-like 
deportment of Perdita caused him instantly to fall in love 
with her. He soon, under the name of Doricles, and in 
the disguise of a private gentleman, became a constant 
visitor at the old shepherd's house. Florizel's frequent ab- 
sences from court alarmed Polixenes ; and setting people 
to watch his son, he discovered his love for the shepherd's 
fair daughter. 

Polixenes then called for Camillo, the faithful Camillo, 
who had preserved his life from the fury of Leontes, and 



40 Tales from Shakspeare 

desired that he would accompany him to the house of the 
shepherd, the supposed father of Perdita. 

Polixenes and Camillo, both in disguise, arrived at the 
old shepherd's dwelling while they were celebrating the 
feast of sheep-shearing ; and though they were stran- 
gers, yet at the sheep-shearing every guest being made 
welcome, they were invited to walk in, and join in the 
general festivity. 

Nothing but mirth and jollity was going forward. Tables 
were spread, and great preparations were making for the 
rustic feast. Some lads and lassies were dancing on the 
green before the house, while others of the young men 
were buying ribbons, gloves, and such toys, of a pedler at 
the door. 

While this busy scene was going forward, Fiorizel and 
Perdita sat quietly in a retired corner, seemingly more 
pleased with the conversation of each other, than desirous 
of engaging in the sports and silly amusements of those 
around them. 

The king was so disguised that it was impossible his son 
could know him ; he therefore advanced near enough to 
hear the conversation. The simple yet elegant manner in 
which Perdita conversed with his son did not a little sur- 
prise Polixenes : he said to Camillo, " This is the prettiest 
low-born lass I ever saw; nothing she does or says but 
looks like something greater than herself, too noble for 
this place." 

Camillo replied, " Indeed she is the very queen of curds 
and cream." 

" Pray, my good friend," said the king to the old shep- 
herd, " what fair swain is that talking with your daughter ? " 
" They call him Doricles," replied the shepherd. " He says 
he loves my daughter ; and, to speak truth, there is not a 
kiss to choose which loves the other best. If young Dori- 



The Winter's Tale 41 

cles can get her, she shall bring him that he little dreams 
of;" meaning the remainder of Perdita's jewels; which, 
after he had bought herds of sheep with part of them, he 
had carefully hoarded up for her marriage portion. 

Polixenes then addressed his son. " How now, young 
man ! " said he : "your heart seems full of something that 
takes off your mind from feasting. When I was young, I 
used to load my love with presents ; but you have let the 
pedler go, and have bought your lass no toy." 

The young prince, who little thought he was talking to 
the king his father, replied, " Old sir, she prizes not such 
trifles ; the gifts which Perdita expects from me are locked 
up in my heart." Then turning to Perdita, he said to her, 
" O hear me, Perdita, before this ancient gentleman, who 
it seems was once himself a lover; he shall hear what I 
profess." Florizel then called upon the old stranger to be 
a witness to a solemn promise of marriage which he made 
to Perdita, saying to Polixenes, " I pray you mark our 
contract." 

" Mark your divorce, young sir," said the king, discover- 
ing himself. Polixenes then reproached his son for daring 
to contract himself to this low-born maiden, calling Perdita 
" shepherd's brat, sheep-hook," and other disrespectful 
names ; and threatening, if ever she suffered his son to see 
her again, he would put her, and the old shepherd her 
father, to a cruel death. 

The king then left them in great wrath, and ordered 
Camillo to follow him with prince Florizel. 

When the king had departed, Perdita, whose royal nature 
was roused by Polixenes' reproaches, said, " Though we 
are all undone, I was not much afraid ; and once or twice 
I was about to speak, and tell him plainly that the selfsame 
sun which shines upon his palace, hides not his face from 
our cottage, but looks on both alike." Then sorrowfully 



42 Tales from Shakspeare 

she said, " But now I am awakened from this dream, I 
will queen it no further. Leave me, sir ; I will go milk my 
ewes and weep." 

The kind-hearted Camillo was charmed with the spirit 
and propriety of Perdita's behavior, and perceiving that 
the young prince was too deeply in love to give up his 
mistress at the command of his royal father, he thought of 
a way to befriend the lovers, and at the same time to exe- 
cute a favorite scheme he had in his mind. 

Camillo had long known that Leontes, the king of Sicily 
was become a true penitent; and though Camillo was now 
the favorite friend of king Polixenes, he could not help 
wishing once more to see his late royal master and his 
native home. He therefore proposed to Florizel and 
Perdita, that they should accompany him to the Sicilian 
court, where he would engage Leontes should protect 
them, till, through his mediation, they could obtain par- 
don from Polixenes, and his consent to their marriage. 

To this proposal they joyfully agreed; and Camillo, 
who conducted everything relative to their flight, allowed 
the old shepherd to go along with them. 

The shepherd took with him the remainder of Perdita's 
jewels, her baby clothes, and the paper which he had found 
pinned to her mantle. 

After a prosperous voyage, Florizel and Perdita, Camillo 
and the old shepherd, arrived in safety at the court of 
Leontes. Leontes, who still mourned his dead Hermione 
and his lost child, received Camillo with great kindness, 
and gave a cordial welcome to prince Florizel. But Per- 
dita, whom Florizel introduced as his princess, seemed to 
engross all Leontes' attention : perceiving a resemblance 
between her and his dead queen Hermione, his grief broke 
out afresh, and he said, such a lovely creature might his 
own daughter have been, if he had not so cruelly destroyed 



The Winter's Tale 43 

her. " And then, too," said he to Florizel, " I lost the 
society and friendship of your brave father, whom I now 
desire more than my life once again to look upon." 

When the old shepherd heard how much notice the king 
had taken of Perdita, and that he had lost a daughter, who 
was exposed in infancy, he fell to comparing the time 
when he found the little Perdita, with the manner of its 
exposure, the jewels and other tokens of its high birth ; 
from all which it was impossible for him not to conclude 
that Perdita and the king's lost daughter were the same. 

Florizel and Perdita, Camillo and the faithful Paulina, 
were present when the old shepherd related to the king the 
manner in which he had found the child, and also the cir- 
cumstance of Antigonus' death, he having seen the bear 
seize upon him. He showed the rich mantle in which 
Paulina remembered Hermione had wrapped the child ; 
and he produced a jewel which she remembered Hermione 
had tied about Perdita's neck, and he gave up the paper 
which Paulina knew to be the writing of her husband ; it 
could not be doubted that Perdita was Leontes' own daughter: 
but oh ! the noble struggles of Paulina, between sorrow for 
her husband's death, and joy that the oracle was fulfilled 
in the king's heir, his long-lost daughter, being found. 
When Leontes heard that Perdita was his daughter, the 
great sorrow that he felt that Hermione was not living to 
behold her child, made him that he could say nothing for 
a long time, but, " O thy mother, thy mother ! " 

Paulina interrupted this joyful yet distressful scene, with 
saying to Leontes, that she had a statue, newly finished by 
that rare Italian master, Julio Romano, which was such a 
perfect resemblance of the queen, that would his majesty 
be pleased to go to her house and look upon it, he would 
be almost ready to think it was Hermione herself. Thither 
then they all went ; the king anxious to see the semblance 



44 Tales from Shakspeare 

of his Hermione, and Perdita longing to behold what the 
mother she never saw did look like. 

When Paulina drew back the curtain which concealed 
this famous statue, so perfectly did it resemble Hermione, 
that all the king's sorrow was renewed at the sight : for a 
long time he had no power to speak or move. 

" I like your silence, my liege," said Paulina, " it the 
more shows your wonder. Is not this statue very like 
your queen ? " 

At length the king said, " O, thus she stood, even with 
such majesty, when I first wooed her. But yet, Paulina, 
Hermione was not so aged as this statue looks." Paulina 
replied, " So much the more the carver's excellence, who 
has made the statue as Hermione would have looked had 
she been living now. But let me draw the curtain, sire, 
lest presently you think it moves." 

The king then said, " Do not draw the curtain. Would 
I were dead ! See, Camillo, would you not think it 
breathed ? Her eye seems to have motion in it." " I 
must draw the curtain, my liege," said Paulina. "You 
are so transported, you will persuade yourself the statue 
lives." " O, sweet Paulina," said Leontes, "make me 
think so twenty years together! Still methinks there is 
an air comes from her. What fine chisel could ever yet 
cut breath ? Let no man mock me, for I will kiss her." 
" Good, my lord, forbear! " said Paulina. "The ruddiness 
upon her lip is wet; you will stain your own with oily 
painting. Shall I draw the curtain ? " " No, not these 
twenty years," said Leontes. 

Perdita, who all this time had been kneeling, and be- 
holding in silent admiration the statue of her matchless 
mother, said now, " And so long could I stay here, looking 
upon my dear mother." 

"Either forbear this transport," said Paulina to Leontes, 



The Winter's Tale 45 

" and let me draw the curtain ; or prepare yourself for 
more amazement. I can make the statue move indeed ; 
ay, and descend from off the pedestal, and take you by 
the hand. But then you will think, which I protest I am 
not, that I am assisted by some wicked powers." 

"What you can make her do," said the astonished king, 
" I am content to look upon. What you can make her 
speak, I am content to hear ; for it is as easy to make 
her speak as move." 

Paulina then ordered some slow and solemn music, which 
she had prepared for the purpose, to strike up ; and, to the 
amazement of all the beholders, the statue came down from 
off the pedestal, and threw its arms around Leontes' neck. 
The statue then began to speak, praying for blessings on 
her husband, and on her child, the newly-found Perdita. 

No wonder that the statue hung upon Leontes' neck, 
and blessed her husband and her child. No wonder; for 
the statue was indeed Hermione herself, the real, the 
living queen. 

Paulina had falsely reported to the king the death of 
Hermione, thinking that the only means to preserve her 
royal mistress's life ; and with the good Paulina, Hermione 
had lived ever since, never choosing Leontes should know 
she was living, till she heard Perdita was found ; for 
though she had long forgiven the injuries which Leontes 
had done to herself, she could not pardon his cruelty to 
his infant daughter. 

His dead queen thus restored to life, his lost daughter 
found, the long-sorrowing Leontes could scarcely support 
the excess of his own happiness. 

Nothing but congratulations and affectionate speeches 
were heard on all sides. Now the delighted parents 
thanked prince Florizel for loving their lowly-seeming 
daughter ; and now they blessed the good old shepherd 



46 Tales from Shakspeare 

for preserving their child. Greatly did Camillo and Pau- 
lina rejoice that they had lived to see so good an end of 
all their faithful services. 

And as if nothing should be wanting to complete this 
strange and unlooked-for joy, king Polixenes himself now- 
entered the palace. 

When Polixenes first missed his son and Camillo, know- 
ing that Camillo had long wished to return to Sicily, he 
conjectured he should find the fugitives here; and, follow- 
ing them with all speed, he happened to arrive just at this, 
the happiest moment of Leontes' life. 

Polixenes took a part in the general joy; he forgave his 
friend Leontes the unjust jealousy he had conceived against 
him, and they once more loved each other with all the 
warmth of their first boyish friendship. And there "was 
no fear that Polixenes would now oppose his son's mar- 
riage 'with Perdita. She was no " sheep-hook" now, but 
the heiress of the crown of Sicily. 

Thus have we seen the patient virtues of the long- 
suffering Hermione rewarded. The excellent lady lived 
many years with her Leontes and her Perdita, the hap- 
piest of mothers and of queens. 




Much Ado About Nothing 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING 

There lived in the palace at Messina two ladies, 
whose names were Hero and Beatrice. Hero was the 
daughter, and Beatrice the niece, of Leonato, the gov- 
ernor of Messina. 

Beatrice was of a lively temper, and loved to divert 
her cousin Hero, who was of a more serious disposition, 
with her sprightly sallies. Whatever was going forward 
was sure to make matter of mirth for the light-hearted 
Beatrice. 

At the time the history of these ladies commences 
some young men of high rank in the army, as they were 
passing through Messina on their return from a war that 
was just ended, in which they had distinguished them- 
selves by their great bravery, came to visit Leonato. 
Among these were Don Pedro, the Prince of Arragon ; 
and his friend Claudio, who was a lord of Florence; and 
with them came the wild and witty Benedick, and he was 
a lord of Padua. 

These strangers had been at Messina before, and the 
hospitable governor introduced them to his daughter and 
his niece as their old friends and acquaintance. 

Benedick, the moment he entered the room, began a 
lively conversation with Leonato and the prince. Bea- 
trice, who liked not to be left out of any discourse, inter- 
rupted Benedick with saying, " I wonder that you will still 
be talking, signior Benedick: nobody marks you." Bene- 
dick was just such another rattle-brain as Beatrice, yet 
he was not pleased at this free salutation ; he thought it 

49 



50 Tales from Shakspeare 

did not become a well-bred lady to be so flippant with her 
tongue ; and he remembered when he was last at Messina, 
that Beatrice used to select him to make her merry jests 
upon. And as there is no one who so little likes to be 
made a jest of as those who are apt to take the same lib- 
erty themselves, so it was with Benedick and Beatrice ; 
these two sharp wits never met in former times but a 
perfect war of raillery was kept up between them, and 
they always parted mutually displeased with each other. 
Therefore when Beatrice stopped him in the middle of his 
discourse with telling him nobody marked what he was 
saying, Benedick, affecting not to have observed before 
that she was present, said, " What, my dear lady Disdain, 
are you yet living ? " And now war broke out afresh 
between them, and a long jangling argument ensued, dur- 
ing which Beatrice, although she knew he had so well 
approved his valor in the late war, said that she would 
eat all he had killed there : and observing the prince take 
delight in Benedick's conversation, she called him "the 
prince's jester." This sarcasm sunk deeper into the mind 
of Benedick than all Beatrice had said before. The hint 
she gave him that he was a coward, by saying she would 
eat all he had killed, he did not regard, knowing himself 
to be a brave man ; but there is nothing that great wits so 
much dread as the imputation of buffoonery, because the 
charge comes sometimes a little too near the truth : there- 
fore Benedick perfectly hated Beatrice when she called 
him "the prince's jester." 

The modest lady Hero was silent before the noble 
guests ; and while Claudio was attentively observing the 
improvement which time had made in her beauty, and 
was contemplating the exquisite graces of her fine figure 
(for she was an admirable young lady), the prince was 
highly amused with listening to the humorous dialogue 



Much Ado About Nothing 51 

between Benedick and Beatrice ; and he said in a whisper 
to Leonato, " This is a pleasant-spirited young lady. She 
were an excellent wife for Benedick." Leonato replied to 
this suggestion, " O, my lord, my lord, if they were but a 
week married, they would talk themselves mad." But 
though Leonato thought they would make a discordant 
pair, the prince did not give up the idea of matching these 
two keen wits together. 

When the prince returned with Claudio from the palace, 
he found that the marriage he had devised between Bene- 
dick and Beatrice was not the only one projected in that 
good company, for Claudio spoke in such terms of Hero, 
as made the prince guess at what was passing in his heart ; 
and he liked it well, and he said to Claudio, " Do you affect 
Hero?" To this question Claudio replied, "O my lord, 
when I was last at Messina, I looked upon her with a sol- 
dier's eye, that liked, but had no leisure for loving ; but 
now, in this happy time of peace, thoughts of war have 
left their places vacant in my mind, and in their room 
come thronging soft and delicate thoughts, all prompting 
me how fair young Hero is, reminding me that I liked her 
before I went to the wars." Claudio's confession of his 
love for Hero so wrought upon the prince, that he lost 
no time in soliciting the consent of Leonato to accept of 
Claudio for a son-in-law. Leonato agreed to this proposal, 
and the prince found no great difficulty in persuading the 
gentle Hero herself to listen to the suit of the noble 
Claudio, who was a lord of rare endowments, and highly 
accomplished ; and Claudio, assisted by his kind prince, 
soon prevailed upon Leonato to fix an early day for the 
celebration of his marriage with Hero. 

Claudio was to wait but a few days before he was to be 
married to his fair lady ; yet he complained of the interval 
being tedious, as indeed most young men are impatient 



52 Tales from Shakspeare 

when they are waiting for the accomplishment of any 
event they have set their hearts upon : the prince, there- 
fore, to make the time seem short to him, proposed as a 
kind of merry pastime that they should invent some artful 
scheme to make Benedick and Beatrice fall in love with 
each other. Claudio entered with great satisfaction into 
this whim of the prince, and Leonato promised them his 
assistance, and even Hero said she would do any modest 
office to help her cousin to a good husband. 

The device the prince invented was, that the gentlemen 
should make Benedick believe that Beatrice was in love 
with him, and that Hero should make Beatrice believe that 
Benedick was in love with her. 

The prince, Leonato, and Claudio began their operations 
first : and watching an opportunity when Benedick was 
quietly seated reading in an arbor, the prince and his 
assistants took their station among the trees behind the 
arbor, so near that Benedick could not choose but hear all 
they said ; and after some careless talk the prince said, 
" Come hither, Leonato. What was it you told me the 
other day — that your niece Beatrice was in love with 
signior Benedick ? I did never think that lady Would 
have loved any man." " No, nor I neither, my lord," an- 
swered Leonato. " It is most wonderful that she should 
so dote on Benedick, whom she in all outward behavior 
seemed ever to dislike." Claudio confirmed all this with 
saying that Hero had told him Beatrice was so. in love with 
Benedick, that she would certainly die of grief, if he could 
not be brought to love her; which Leonato and Claudio 
seemed to agree was impossible, he having always been 
such a railer against all fair ladies, and in particular against 
Beatrice. 

The prince affected to hearken to all this with great 
compassion for Beatrice, and he said, " It were good that 



Much Ado About Nothing 53 

Benedick were told of this." " To what end ? " said 
Claudio ; " he would but make sport of it, and torment the 
poor lady worse." " And if he should," said the prince, 
"it were a good deed to hang him; for Beatrice is an 
excellent sweet lady, and exceeding wise in everything but 
in loving Benedick." Then the prince motioned to his 
companions that they should walk on, and leave Benedick 
to meditate upon what he had overheard. 

Benedick had been listening with great eagerness to 
this conversation ; and said to himself when he heard Bea- 
trice loved him, " Is it possible ? Sits the wind in that 
corner ? " And when they were gone, he began to reason 
in this manner with himself : " This can be no trick ! they 
were very serious, and they have the truth from Hero, and 
seem to pity the lady. Love me ! Why it must be re- 
quited ! I did never think to marry. But when I said I 
should die a bachelor, I did not think I should live to be 
married. They say the lady is virtuous and fair. She is 
so. And wise in everything but in loving me. Why, that 
is no great argument of her folly. But here comes Bea- 
trice. By this day, she is a fair lady. I do spy some marks 
of love in her." Beatrice now approached him, and said 
with her usual tartness, " Against my will I am sent to bid 
you come in to dinner." Benedick, who never felt himself 
disposed to speak so politely to her before, replied, " Fair 
Beatrice, I thank you for your pains : " and when Beatrice, 
after two or three more rude speeches, left him, Benedick 
thought he observed a concealed meaning of kindness 
under the uncivil words she uttered, and he said aloud, " If 
I do not take pity on her, I am a villain. If I do not love 
her, I am a Jew. I will go get her picture." 

The gentleman being thus caught in the net they had 
spread for him, it was now Hero's turn to play her part 
with Beatrice ; and for this purpose she sent for Ursula 



54 Tales from Shakspeare 

and Margaret, two gentlewomen who attended upon her, 
and she said to Margaret, " Good Margaret, run to the 
parlor ; there you will find my cousin Beatrice talking with 
the prince and Claudio. Whisper in her ear, that I and 
Ursula are walking in the orchard, and that our discourse 
is all of her. Bid her steal into that pleasant arbor, where 
honeysuckles, ripened by the sun, like ungrateful minions, 
forbid the sun to enter." This arbor, into which Hero 
desired Margaret to entice Beatrice, was the very same 
pleasant arbor where Benedick had so lately been an atten- 
tive listener. 

" I will make her come, I warrant, presently," said 
Margaret. 

Hero, then taking Ursula with her into the orchard, 
said to her, " Now Ursula, when Beatrice comes, we will 
walk up and down this alley, and our talk must be only 
of Benedick, and when I name him, let it be your part to 
praise him more than ever man did merit. My talk to you 
must be how Benedick is in love with' Beatrice. Now 
begin ; for look where Beatrice like a lapwing runs close 
by the ground, to hear our conference." They then began ; 
Hero saying, as if in answer to something which Ursula 
had said, " No, truly, Ursula. She is too disdainful ; her 
spirits are as coy as wild birds of the rock." " But are 
you sure," said Ursula, "that Benedick loves Beatrice so 
entirely?" Hero replied, "So says the prince, and my 
lord Claudio, and they entreated me to acquaint her with 
it ; but I persuaded them, if they loved Benedick, never to 
let Beatrice know of it." " Certainly," replied Ursula, " it 
were not good she knew his love, lest she made sport of 
it." "Why, to say truth," said Hero, "I never yet saw a 
man, how wise soever, or noble, young, or rarely featured, 
but she would dispraise him." " Sure, sure, such carping 
is not commendable," said Ursula. " No," replied Hero, 



Much Ado About Nothing $$ 

"but who dare tell her so ? If I should speak, she would 
mock me into air." "O! you wrong your cousin," said 
Ursula : " she cannot be so much without true judgment, 
as to refuse so rare a gentleman as signior Benedick." 
"He hath an excellent good name," said Hero: "indeed, 
he is the first man in Italy, always excepting my dear 
Claudio." And now, Hero giving her attendant a hint 
that it was time to change the discourse, Ursula said, "And 
when are you to be married, madam ? " Hero then told 
her, that she was to be married to Claudio the next day, 
and desired she would go in with her, and look at some 
new attire, as she wished to consult with her on what she 
would wear on the morrow. Beatrice, who had been lis- 
tening with breathless eagerness to this dialogue, when 
they went away, exclaimed, " What fire is in mine ears ? 
Can this be true ? Farewell, contempt and scorn, and 
maiden pride, adieu ! Benedick, love on ! I will requite 
you, taming my wild heart to your loving hand." 

It must have been a pleasant sight to see these old 
enemies converted into new and loving friends, and to 
behold their first meeting after being cheated into mutual 
liking by the merry artifice of the good-humored prince. 
But a sad reverse in the fortunes of Hero must now be 
thought of. The morrow, which was to have been her 
wedding-day, brought sorrow on the heart of Hero and her 
good father Leonato. 

The prince had a half-brother, who came from the wars 
along with him to Messina. This brother (his name was 
Don John) was a melancholy, discontented man, whose 
spirits seemed to labor in the contriving of villanies. He 
hated the prince his brother, and he hated Claudio, because 
he was the prince's friend, and determined to prevent 
Claudio's marriage with Hero, only for the malicious pleas- 
ure of making Claudio and the prince unhappy : for he 



?6 Tales from Shakspeare 

knew the prince had set his heart upon this marriage, al- 
most as much as Claudio himself ; and to effect this wicked 
purpose, he employed one Borachio, a man as bad as him- 
self, whom he encouraged with the offer of a great reward. 
This Borachio paid his court to Margaret, Hero's attend- 
ant ; and Don John, knowing this, prevailed upon him to 
make Margaret promise to talk with him from her lady's 
chamber window that night, after Hero was asleep, and 
also to dress herself in Hero's clothes, the better to deceive 
Claudio into the belief that it was Hero ; for that was the 
end he meant to compass by this wicked plot. 

Don John then went to the prince and Claudio, and told 
them that Hero was an imprudent lady, and that she talked 
with men from her chamber window at midnight. Now 
this was the evening before the wedding, and he offered to 
take them that night, where they should themselves hear 
Hero discoursing with a man from her window ; and they 
consented to go along with him, and Claudio said, " If I 
see anything to-night why I should not marry her, to-morrow 
in the congregation, where I intended to wed her, there will 
I shame her." The prince also said, "And as I assisted 
you to obtain her, I will join with you to disgrace her." 

When Don John brought them near Hero's chamber 
that night, they saw Borachio standing under the window, 
and they saw Margaret looking out of Hero's window, and 
heard her talking with Borachio : and Margaret being 
dressed in the same clothes they had seen Hero wear, the 
prince and Claudio believed it was the lady Hero herself. 

Nothing could equal the anger of Claudio, when he had 
made (as he thought) this discovery. All his love for the 
innocent Hero was at once converted into hatred, and he 
resolved to expose her in the church, as he had said he would, 
the next day ; and the prince agreed to this, thinking no 
punishment could be too severe for the naughty lady, who 



Much Ado About Nothing 57 

talked with a man from her window the very night before 
she was going to be married to the noble Claudio. 

The next day, when they were all met to celebrate the 
marriage, and Claudio and Hero were standing before the 
priest, and the priest, or friar, as he was called, was pro- 
ceeding to pronounce the marriage ceremony, Claudio, in 
the most passionate language, proclaimed the guilt of the 
blameless Hero, who, amazed at the strange words he 
uttered said, meekly, " Is my lord well, that he does speak 
so wide ? " 

Leonato, in the utmost horror, said to the prince, " My 
lord, why speak not you ? " " What should I speak ? " 
said the prince ; " I stand dishonored, that have gone 
about to link my dear friend to an unworthy woman. Leo- 
nato, upon my honor, myself, my brother, and this grieved 
Claudio, did see and hear her last night at midnight talk 
with a man at her chamber window." 

Benedick, in astonishment at what he heard, said, 
"This looks not like a nuptial." 

" True, O God ! " replied the heart-struck Hero ; and 
then this hapless lady sunk down in a fainting fit, to all 
appearance dead. The prince and Claudio left the church, 
without staying to see if Hero would recover, or at all 
regarding the distress into which they had thrown Leonato. 
So hard-hearted had their anger made them. 

Benedick remained, and assisted Beatrice to recover 
Hero from her swoon, saying, " How does the lady ? " 
" Dead, I think," replied Beatrice in great agony, for she 
loved her cousin ; and knowing her virtuous principles, 
she believed nothing of what she had heard spoken against 
her. Not so the poor old father ; he believed the story of 
his child's shame, and it was piteous to hear him lament- 
ing over her, as she lay like one dead before him, wishing 
she might never more open her eyes. 



5 8 Tales from Shakspeare 

But the ancient friar was a wise man, and full of obser- 
vation on human nature, and he had attentively marked 
the lady's countenance when she heard herself accused, 
and noted a thousand blushing shames to start into her 
face, and then he saw an angel-like whiteness bear away 
those blushes, and in her eye he saw a fire that did belie 
the error that the prince did speak against her maiden 
truth, and he said to the sorrowing father, " Call me a 
fool ; trust not my reading, nor my observation ; trust not 
my age, my reverence, nor my calling, if this sweet lady 
lie not guiltless here under some biting error." 

When Hero had recovered from the swoon into which 
she had fallen, the friar said to her, " Lady, what man is 
he you are accused of ? " Hero replied, " They know that 
do accuse me ; I know of none : " then turning to Leonato, 
she said, li O my father, if you can prove that any man 
has ever conversed with me at hours unmeet, or that I 
yesternight changed words with any creature, refuse me, 
hate me, torture me to death." 

"There is," said the friar, "some strange misunderstand- 
ing in the prince and Claudio ; " and then he counselled 
Leonato, that he should report that Hero was dead ; and 
he said that the death-like swoon in which they had left 
Hero would make this easy of belief ; and he also advised 
him that he should put on mourning and erect a monu- 
ment for her, and do all rites that appertain to a burial. 
" What shall become of this ? " said Leonato. " What will 
this do?" The friar replied, "This report of her death 
shall change slander into pity : that is some good ; but that 
is not all the good I hope for. When Claudio shall hear 
she died upon hearing his words, the idea of her life shall 
sweetly creep into his imagination. Then shall he mourn, 
if ever love had interest in his heart, and wish that he had 
not so accused her ; yea, though he thought his accusation 
true." 



Much Ado About Nothing 59 

Benedick now said, " Leonato, let the friar advise you ; 
and though you know how well I love the prince and 
Claudio, yet on my honor I will not reveal this secret to 
them." 

Leonato, thus persuaded, yielded ; and he said sorrow- 
fully, " I am so grieved, that the smallest twine may lead 
me." The kind friar then led Leonato and Hero away to 
comfort and console them, and Beatrice and Benedick 
remained alone ; and this was the meeting from which 
their friends, who contrived the merry plot against them, 
expected so much diversion ; those friends who were now 
overwhelmed with affliction, and from whose minds all 
thoughts of merriment seemed forever banished. 

Benedick was the first who spoke, and he said, — 

"Lady Beatrice, have you wept all this while?" " Yea, 
and I will weep a while longer," said Beatrice. " Surely," 
said Benedick, " I do believe your fair cousin is wronged." 
" Ah ! " said Beatrice, " how much might that man deserve 
of me who would right her ! " Benedick then said, " Is 
there any way to show such friendship ? I do love nothing 
in the world so well as you: is not that strange?" "It 
were as possible," said Beatrice, "for me to say I loved 
nothing in the world so well as you ; but believe me not, 
and yet I lie not. I confess nothing, nor I deny nothing. 
I am sorry for my cousin." " By my sword," said Bene- 
dick, " you love me, and I protest I love you. Come, bid 
me do anything for you." " Kill Claudio," said Beatrice. 
"Ha! not for the wide world," said Benedick; for he 
loved his friend Claudio, and he believed he had been 
imposed upon. " Is not Claudio a villain, that has slan- 
dered, scorned, and dishonored my cousin ? " said Bea- 
trice : " O that I were a man ! " " Hear me, Beatrice," 
said Benedick. But Beatrice would hear nothing: in 
Claudio's defence ; and she continued to urge on Bene- 



Go Tales from Shakspeare 

dick to revenge her cousin's wrongs: and she said, "Talk 
with a man out of the window ; a proper saying ! Sweet 
Hero ! she is wronged ; she is slandered ; she is undone. 
O that I were a man for Claudio's sake ! or that I had any 
friend, who would be a man for my sake ! but valor is 
melted into courtesies and compliments. I cannot be a 
man with wishing, therefore I will die a woman with 
grieving." "Tarry, good Beatrice," said Benedick; "by 
this hand I love you." "Use it for my love some other 
way than swearing by it," said Beatrice. "Think you on 
your soul, that Claudio has wronged Hero?" asked Bene- 
dick. "Yea," answered Beatrice; "as sure as I have a 
thought, or a soul." "Enough," said Benedick; "I am 
engaged ; I will challenge him. I will kiss your hand, 
and so leave you. By this hand, Claudio shall render me 
a dear account ! As you hear from me, so think of me. 
Go, comfort your cousin." 

While Beatrice was thus powerfully pleading with Bene- 
dick, and working his gallant temper by the spirit of her 
angry words, to engage in the cause of Hero, and fight 
even with his dear friend Claudio, Leonato was challeng- 
ing the prince and Claudio to answer with their swords the 
injury they had done his child, who, he affirmed, had died 
for grief. But they respected his age and his sorrow, and 
they said, " Nay, do not quarrel with us, good old man." 
And now came Benedick, and he also challenged Claudio 
to answer with his sword the injury he had done to Hero; 
and Claudio and the prince said to each other, " Beatrice 
has set him on to do this." Claudio nevertheless must 
have accepted this challenge of Benedick, had not the 
justice of Heaven at the moment brought to pass a better 
proof of the innocence of Hero than the uncertain fortune 
of a duel. 

While the prince and Claudio were yet talking of the 



Much Ado About Nothing 61 

challenge of Benedick, a magistrate brought Borachio as 
a prisoner before the prince. Borachio had been over- 
heard talking with one of his companions of the mischief 
he had been employed by Don John to do. 

Borachio made a full confession to the prince in 
Claudio's hearing, that it was Margaret dressed in her 
lady's clothes that he had talked with from the window, 
whom they had mistaken for the lady Hero herself; and 
no doubt continued on the minds of Claudio and the prince 
of the innocence of Hero. If a suspicion had remained it 
must have been removed by the flight of Don John, who, 
finding his villanies were detected, fled from Messina to 
avoid the just anger of his brother. 

The heart of Claudio was sorely grieved when he found 
he had falsely accused Hero, who, he thought, died upon 
hearing his cruel words ; and the memory of his beloved 
Hero's image came over him, in the rare semblance that 
he loved it first ; and the prince asking him if what he 
heard did not run like iron through his soul, he answered, 
that he felt as if he had taken poison while Borachio was 
speaking. 

And the repentant Claudio implored forgiveness of the 
old man Leonato for the injury he had done his child; and 
promised, that whatever penance Leonato would lay upon 
him for his fault in believing the false accusation against 
his betrothed wife, for her dear sake he would endure it. 

The penance Leonato enjoined him was, to marry the 
next morning a cousin of Hero's who, he said, was now 
his heir, and in person very like Hero. Claudio, regarding 
the solemn promise he made to Leonato, said, he would 
marry this unknown lady, even though she were an Ethiop : 
but his heart was very sorrowful, and he passed that night 
in tears, and in remorseful grief, at the tomb which 
Leonato had erected for Hero. 



62 Tales from Shakspeare 

When the morning came, the prince accompanied 
Claudio to the church, where the good friar, and Leonato 
and his niece, were already assembled, to celebrate a sec- 
ond nuptial ; and Leonato presented to Claudio his prom- 
ised bride ; and she wore a mask, that Claudio might not 
discover her face. And Claudio said to the lady in the 
mask, " Give me your hand, before this holy friar ; I am 
your husband, if you will marry me." " And when I lived 
I was your other wife," said this unknown lady ; and, tak- 
ing off her mask, she proved to be no niece (as was pre- 
tended), but Leonato's very daughter, the lady Hero 
herself. We may be sure that this proved a most agree- 
able surprise to Claudio, who thought her dead, so that he 
could scarcely for joy believe his eyes ; and the prince, 
who was equally amazed at what he saw, exclaimed, " Is 
not this Hero, Hero that was dead?" Leonato replied, 
"She died, my lord, but while her slander lived." The 
friar promised them an explanation of this seeming mira- 
cle, after the ceremony was ended ; and was proceeding to 
marry them, when he was interrupted by Benedick, who 
desired to be married at the same time to Beatrice. Bea- 
trice making some demur to this match, and Benedick 
challenging her with her love for him, which he had 
learned from Hero, a pleasant explanation took place ; and 
they found they had both been tricked into a belief of love, 
which had never existed, and had become lovers in truth 
by the power of a false jest : but the affection, which a 
merry invention had cheated them into, was grown too pow- 
erful to be shaken by a serious explanation ; and since 
Benedick proposed to marry, he was resolved to think 
nothing to the purpose that the world could say against it ; 
and he merrily kept up the jest, and swore to Beatrice, that 
he took her but for pity, and because he heard she was 
dying of love for him ; and Beatrice protested, that she 



Much Ado About Nothing 63 

yielded but upon great persuasion, and partly to save his 
life, for she heard he was in a consumption. So these two 
mad wits were reconciled, and made a match of it, after 
Claudio and Hero were married ; and to complete the his- 
tory, Don John, the contriver of the villany, was taken in 
his flight, and brought back to Messina ; and a brave pun- 
ishment it was to this gloomy, discontented man, to see the 
joy and feastings which, by the disappointment of his 
plots, took place at the palace in Messina. 



AS YOU LIKE IT 

During the time that France was divided into provinces 
(or dukedoms as they were called) there reigned in one of 
these provinces an usurper, who had deposed and banished 
his elder brother, the lawful duke. 

The duke, who was thus driven from his dominions, re- 
tired with a few faithful followers to the forest of Arden ; 
and here the good duke lived with his loving friends, who 
had put themselves into a voluntary exile for his sake, 
while their land and revenues enriched the false usurper ; 
and custom soon made the life of careless ease they led 
here more sweet to them than the pomp and uneasy splen- 
dor of a courtier's life. Here they lived like the old Robin 
Hood of. England, and to this forest many noble youths 
daily resorted from the court, and did fleet the time care- 
lessly, as they did who lived in the golden age. In the 
summer they lay along under the fine shade of the large 
forest trees, marking the playful sports of the wild deer ; 
and so fond were they of these poor dappled fools, who 
seemed to be the native inhabitants of the forest, that it 
grieved them to be forced to kill them to supply them- 
selves with venison for their food. When the cold winds 
of winter made the duke feel the change of his adverse 
fortune, he would endure it patiently, and say, " These 
chilling winds which blow upon my body are true counsel- 
lors ; they do not flatter, but represent truly to me my con- 
dition ; and though they bite sharply, their tooth is nothing 
like so keen as that of unkindness and ingratitude. I find 
that howsoever men speak against adversity, yet some 

6 4 




As You Like It 



As You Like It 67 

sweet uses are to be extracted from it ; like the jewel, pre- 
cious for medicine, which is taken from the head of the 
venomous and despised toad." In this manner did the 
patient duke draw a useful moral from everything that he 
saw ; and by the help of this moralizing turn, in that life 
of his, remote from public haunts, he could find tongues in 
trees, books in the running brooks, sermons in stones, and 
good in everything. 

The banished duke had an only daughter, named Rosa- 
lind, whom the usurper, duke Frederick, when he banished 
her father, still retained in his court as a companion for 
his own daughter Celia. A strict friendship subsisted 
between these ladies, which the disagreement between 
their fathers did not in the least interrupt, Celia striving 
by every kindness in her power to make amends to 
Rosalind for the injustice of her own father in deposing 
the father of Rosalind ; and whenever the thoughts of her 
father's banishment, and her own dependence on the false 
usurper, made Rosalind melancholy, Celia's whole care was 
to comfort and console her. 

One day, when Celia was talking in her usual kind 
manner to Rosalind, saying, " I pray you, Rosalind, my 
sweet cousin, be merry," a messenger entered from the 
duke, to tell them that if they wished to see a wrestling 
match, which was just going to begin, they must come 
instantly to the court before the palace ; and Celia, think- 
ing it would amuse Rosalind, agreed to go and see it. 

In those times wrestling, which is only practised now 
by country clowns, was a favorite sport even in the courts 
of princes, and before fair ladies and princesses. To this 
wrestling match, therefore, Celia and Rosalind went. 
They found that it was likely to prove a very tragical sight ; 
for a large and powerful man, who had been long prac- 
tised in the art of wrestling, and had slain many men in 



68 Tales from Shakspeare 

contests of this kind, was just going to wrestle with a very- 
young man, who, from his extreme youth and inexperience 
in the art, the beholders all thought would certainly be 
killed. 

When the duke saw Celia and Rosalind, he said, " How 
now, daughter and niece, are you crept hither to see the 
wrestling ? You will take little delight in it, there is such 
odds in the men : in pity to this young man, I would wish 
to persuade him from wrestling. Speak to him, ladies, 
and see if you can move him." 

The ladies were well pleased to perform this humane 
office, and first Celia entreated the young stranger that 
he would desist from the attempt ; and then Rosalind 
spoke so kindly to him, and with such feeling considera- 
tion for the danger he was about to undergo, that instead 
of being persuaded by her gentle words to forego his 
purpose, all his thoughts were bent to distinguish himself 
by his courage in this lovely lady's eyes. He refused the 
request of Celia and Rosalind in such graceful and modest 
words, that they felt still more concern for him ; he con- 
cluded his refusal with saying, " I am sorry to deny such 
fair and excellent ladies anything. But let your fair eyes 
and gentle wishes go with me to my trial, wherein if I be 
conquered there is one shamed that was never gracious ; 
if I am killed, there is one dead that is willing to die ; I 
shall do my friends no wrong, for I have none to lament 
me ; the world no injury, for in it I have nothing ; for I 
only fill up a place in the world which may be better 
supplied when I have made it empty." 

And now the wrestling match began. Celia wished the 
young stranger might not be hurt ; but Rosalind felt most 
for him. The friendless state which he said he was in, 
and that he wished to die, made Rosalind think that he 
was like herself, unfortunate ; and she pitied him so much, 



As You Like It 69 

and so deep an interest she took in his danger while he 
was wrestling, that she might almost be said at that 
moment to have fallen in love with him. 

The kindness shown this unknown youth by these fair 
and noble ladies gave him courage and strength, so that he 
performed wonders ; and in the end completely conquered 
his antagonist, who was so much hurt, that for a while he 
was unable to speak or move. 

The duke Frederick was much pleased with the courage 
and skill shown by this young stranger ; and desired to 
know his name and parentage, meaning to take him under 
his protection. 

The stranger said his name was Orlando, and that he 
was the youngest son of Sir Rowland de Boys. 

Sir Rowland de Boys, the father of Orlando, had been 
dead some years ; but when he was living, he had been a 
true subject and dear friend of the banished duke : there- 
fore, when Frederick heard Orlando was the son of his 
banished brother's friend, all his liking for this brave 
young man was changed into displeasure, and he left the 
place in very ill humor. Hating to hear the very name 
of any of his brother's friends, and yet still admiring the 
valor of the youth, he said, as he went out, that he wished 
Orlando had been the son of any other man. 

Rosalind was delighted to hear that her new favorite 
was the son of her father's old friend ; and she said to 
Celia, " My father loved Sir Rowland de Boys, and if I 
had known this young man was his son, I would have 
added tears to my entreaties before he should have 
ventured." 

The ladies then went up to him ; and seeing him abashed 
by the sudden displeasure shown by the duke, they spoke 
kind and encouraging words to him ; and Rosalind, when 
they were going away, turned back to speak some more 



yo Tales from Shakspeare 

civil things to the brave young son of her father's old 
friend; and taking a chain from off her neck, she said, 
" Gentleman, wear this for me. I am out of suits with 
fortune, or I would give you a more valuable present." 

When the ladies were alone, Rosalind's talk being still 
of Orlando, Celia began to perceive her cousin had fallen 
in love with the handsome young wrestler, and she said to 
Rosalind, " Is it possible you should fall in love so sud- 
denly ? " Rosalind replied, " The duke, my father, loved 
his father dearly." " But," said Celia, " does it therefore 
follow that you should love his son dearly ? for then I 
ought to hate him, for my father hated his father ; yet I 
do not hate Orlando." 

Frederick being enraged at the sight of Sir Rowland de 
Boys' son, which reminded him of the many friends the 
banished duke had among the nobility, and having been 
for some time displeased with his niece, because the peo- 
ple praised her for her virtues, and pitied her for her good 
father's sake, his malice suddenly broke out against her; 
and while Celia and Rosalind were talking of Orlando, 
Frederick entered the room, and with looks full of anger 
ordered Rosalind instantly to leave the palace, and follow 
her father into banishment; telling Celia, who in vain 
pleaded for her, that he had only suffered Rosalind to 
stay upon her account. " I did not then," said Celia, " en- 
treat you to let her stay, for I was too young at that time 
to value her ; but now that I know her worth, and that 
we so long have slept together, rose at the same instant, 
learned, played, and eat together, I cannot live out of her 
company." Frederick replied, " She is too subtle for you ; 
her smoothness, her very silence, and her patience speak 
to the people, and they pity her. You are a fool to 
plead for her, for you will seem more bright and virtuous 
when she is gone; therefore open not your lips in her 



As You Like It 71 

favor, for the doom which I have passed upon her is 
irrevocable." 

When Celia found she could not prevail upon her father 
to let Rosalind remain with her, she generously resolved to 
accompany her ; and leaving her father's palace that night, 
she went along with her friend to seek Rosalind's father, 
the banished duke, in the forest of Arden. 

Before they set out, Celia considered that it would be 
unsafe for two young ladies to travel in the rich clothes 
they then wore ; she therefore proposed that they should 
disguise their rank by dressing themselves like country 
maids. Rosalind said it would be a still greater protection 
if one of them was to be dressed like a man ; and so it 
was quickly agreed on between them, that as Rosalind was 
the tallest, she should wear the dress of a young country- 
man, and Celia should be habited like a country lass, and 
that they should say they were brother and sister, and 
Rosalind said she would be called Ganymede, and Celia 
chose the name of Aliena. 

In this disguise, and taking their money and jewels to 
defray their expenses, these fair princesses set out on their 
long travel ; for the forest of Arden was a long way off, 
beyond the boundaries of the duke's dominions. 

The lady Rosalind (or Ganymede as she must now 
be called) with her manly garb seemed to have put on a 
manly courage. The faithful friendship Celia had shown 
in accompanying Rosalind so many weary miles, made the 
new brother, in recompense for this true love, exert a cheer- 
ful spirit, as if he were indeed Ganymede, the rustic and 
stout-hearted brother of the gentle village maiden, Aliena. 

When at last they came to the forest of Arden, they no 
longer found the convenient inns and good accommoda- 
tions they had met with on the road ; and being in want 
of food and rest, Ganymede, who had so merrily cheered 



j2 Tales from Shakspeare 

his sister with pleasant speeches and happy remarks all 
the way, now owned to Aliena that he was so weary, he 
could find in his heart to disgrace his man's apparel, and 
cry like a woman ; and Aliena declared she could go no 
farther; and then again Ganymede tried to recollect that 
it was a man's duty to comfort and console a woman, as 
the weaker vessel; and to seem courageous to his new 
sister, he said, " Come, have a good heart, my sister Aliena; 
we are now at the end of our travel, in the forest of Arden." 
But feigned manliness and forced courage would no longer 
support them ; for though they were in the forest of Arden, 
they knew not where to find the duke : and here the travel 
of these weary ladies might have come to a sad conclusion, 
for they might have lost themselves, and perished for want 
of food ; but providentially, as they were sitting on the 
grass, almost dying with fatigue and hopeless of any relief, 
a countryman chanced to pass that way, and Ganymede 
once more tried to speak with a manly boldness, saying, 
" Shepherd, if love or gold can in this desert place procure 
us entertainment, I pray you bring us where we may rest 
ourselves ; for this young maid, my sister, is much fatigued 
with travelling, and faints for want of food." 

The man replied, that he was only a servant to a shep- 
herd, and that his master's house was just going to be sold, 
and therefore they would find but poor entertainment ; but 
that if they would go with him, they should be welcome to 
what there was. They followed the man, the near prospect 
of relief giving them fresh strength ; and bought the house 
and sheep of the shepherd, and took the man who con- 
ducted them to the shepherd's house to wait on them ; and 
being by this means so fortunately provided with a neat 
cottage, and well supplied with provisions, they agreed to 
stay here till 'they could learn in what part of the forest 
the duke dwelt. 



As You Like It 73 

When they were rested after the fatigue of their journey, 
they began to like their new way of life, and almost fancied 
themselves the shepherd and shepherdess they feigned to 
be ; yet sometimes Ganymede remembered he had once 
been the same lady Rosalind who had so dearly loved the 
brave Orlando, because he was the son of old Sir Rowland, 
her father's friend ; and though Ganymede thought that 
Orlando was many miles distant, even so many weary miles 
as they had travelled, yet it soon appeared that Orlando 
was also in the forest of Arden : and in this manner this 
strange event came to pass. 

Orlando was the youngest son of Sir Rowland de Boys, 
who, when he died, left him (Orlando being then very 
young) to the care of his eldest brother Oliver, charging 
Oliver on his blessing to give his brother a good education, 
and provide for him as became the dignity of their ancient 
house. Oliver proved an unworthy brother ; and disre- 
garding the commands of his dying father, he never put 
his brother to school, but kept him at home untaught and 
entirely neglected. But in his nature and in the noble 
qualities of his mind Orlando so much resembled his ex- 
cellent father, that without any advantages of education 
he seemed like a youth who had been bred with the utmost 
care ; and Oliver so envied the fine person and dignified 
manners of his untutored brother, that at last he wished to 
destroy him ; and to effect this he set on people to per- 
suade him to wrestle with the famous wrestler, who, as has 
been before related, had killed so many men. Now, it was 
this cruel brother's neglect of him which made Orlando say 
he wished to die, being so friendless. 

When, contrary to the wicked hopes he had formed, his 
brother proved victorious, his envy and malice knew no 
bounds, and he swore he would burn the chamber where 
Orlando slept. He was overheard making this vow by 



74 Tales from Shakspeare 

one that had been an old and faithful servant to their 
father, and that loved Orlando because he resembled Sir 
Rowland. This old man went out to meet him when he 
returned from the duke's palace, and when he saw Orlando, 
the peril his dear young master was in made him break 
out into these passionate exclamations : — " O my gentle 
master, my sweet master, O you memory of old Sir Row- 
land ! why are you virtuous ? why are you gentle, strong, 
and valiant ? and why would you be so fond to overcome 
the famous wrestler ? Your praise is come too swiftly 
home before you." Orlando, wondering what all this 
meant, asked him what was the matter. And then the 
old man told him how his wicked brother, envying the 
love all people bore him, and now hearing the fame he 
had gained by his victory in the duke's palace, intended 
to destroy him, by setting fire to his chamber that night ; 
and in conclusion, advised him to escape the danger he 
was in by instant flight ; and knowing Orlando had no 
money, Adam (for that was the good old man's name) 
had brought out with him his own little hoard, and he 
said, " I have five hundred crowns, the thrifty hire I 
saved under your father, and laid by to be provision for 
me when my old limbs should become unfit for service ; 
take that, and he that doth the ravens feed be comfort 
to my age ! Here is the gold ; all this I give to you : let 
me be your servant ; though I look old I will do the service 
of a younger man in all your business and necessities." 
" O good old man ! " said Orlando, " how well appears in 
you the constant service of the old world ! You are not 
for the fashion of these times. We will go along together, 
and before your youthful wages are spent, I shall light 
upon some means for both our maintenance." 

Together then this faithful servant and his loved master 
set out; and Orlando and Adam travelled on, uncertain 



As You Like It 75 

what course to pursue, till they came to the forest of 
Arden, and there they found themselves in the same dis- 
tress for want of food that Ganymede and Aliena had 
been. They wandered on, seeking some human habitation, 
till they were almost spent with hunger and fatigue. Adam 
at last said, " O my dear master, I die for want of food, I 
can go no farther ! " He then laid himself down, thinking 
to make that place his grave, and bade his dear master 
farewell. Orlando, seeing him in this weak state, took 
his old servant up in his arms, and carried him under the 
shelter of some pleasant trees; and he said to him, 
" Cheerly, old Adam, rest your weary limbs here awhile, 
and do not talk of dying ! " 

Orlando then searched about to find some food, and he 
happened to arrive at that part of the forest where the 
duke was; and he and his friends were just going to eat 
their dinner, this royal duke being seated on the grass, 
under no other canopy than the shady covert of some 
large trees. 

Orlando, whom hunger had made desperate, drew his 
sword, intending to take their meat by force, and said, 
" Forbear and eat no more ; I must have your food ! " 
The duke asked him, if distress had made him so bold, or 
if he were a rude despiser of good manners ? On this 
Orlando said, he was dying with hunger ; and then the 
duke told him he was welcome to sit down and eat with 
them. Orlando hearing him speak so gently, put up his 
sword, and blushed with shame at the rude manner in 
which he had demanded their food. " Pardon me, I pray 
you," said he : "I thought that all things had been savage 
here, and therefore I put on the countenance of stern 
command ; but whatever men you are, that in this desert, 
under the shade of melancholy boughs, lose and neglect 
the creeping hours of time ; if ever you have looked on 



j6 Tales from Shakspeare 

better days ; if ever you have been where bells have 
knolled to church ; if you have ever sat at any good man's 
feast ; if ever from your eyelids you have wiped a tear, 
and know what it is to pity or be pitied, may gentle speeches 
now move you to do me human courtesy ! " The duke 
replied, " True it is that we are men (as you say) who have 
seen better days, and though we have now our habitation 
in this wild forest, we have lived in towns and cities, and 
have with holy bell been knolled to church, have sat at 
good men's feasts, and from our eyes have wiped the 
drops which sacred pity has engendered ; therefore sit 
you down, and take of our refreshment as much as will 
minister to your wants." " There is an old poor man," 
answered Orlando, "who has limped after me many a 
weary step in pure love, oppressed at once with two sad 
infirmities, age and hunger; till he be satisfied, I must 
not touch a bit." " Go, find him out, and bring him hither," 
said the duke ; " we will forbear to eat till you return. " Then 
Orlando went like a doe to find its fawn and give it food ; 
and presently returned, bringing Adam in his arms ; and 
the duke said, " Set down your venerable burthen ; you 
are both welcome : " and they fed the old man, and cheered 
his heart, and he revived, and recovered his health and 
strength again. 

The duke inquired who Orlando was ; and when he 
found that he was the son of his old friend, Sir Rowland 
de Boys, he took him under his protection, and Orlando 
and his old servant lived with the duke in the forest. 

Orlando arrived in the forest not many days after 
Ganymede and Aliena came there, and (as has been be- 
fore related) bought the shepherd's cottage. 

Ganymede and Aliena were strangely surprised to find 
the name of Rosalind carved on the trees, and love-son- 
nets, fastened to them, all addressed to Rosalind ; and 



As You Like It 77 

while they were wondering how this could be, they met 
Orlando, and they perceived the chain which Rosalind 
had given him about his neck. 

Orlando little thought that Ganymede was the fair prin- 
cess Rosalind, who, by her noble condescension and favor, 
had so won his heart that he passed his whole time in carv- 
ing her name upon the trees, and writing sonnets in praise 
of her beauty : but being much pleased with the graceful 
air of this pretty shepherd-youth, he entered into conversa- 
tion with him, and he thought he saw a likeness in Gany- 
mede to his beloved Rosalind, but that he had none of the 
dignified deportment of that noble lady ; for Ganymede 
assumed the forward manners often seen in youths when 
they are between boys and men, and with much archness 
and humor talked to Orlando of a certain lover, " who," 
said he, " haunts our forest, and spoils our young trees with 
carving Rosalind upon their barks ; and he hangs odes 
upon hawthorns, and elegies on brambles, all praising 
this same Rosalind. If I could find this lover, I would 
give him some good counsel that would soon cure him of 
his love." * 

Orlando confessed that he was the fond lover of whom 
he spoke, and asked Ganymede to give him the good coun- 
sel he talked of. The remedy Ganymede proposed, and 
the counsel he gave him, was that Orlando should come 
every day to the cottage where he and his sister Aliena 
dwelt: "And then," said Ganymede, "I will feign myself 
to be Rosalind, and you shall feign to court me in the same 
manner as you would do if I was Rosalind, and then I will 
imitate the fantastic ways of whimsical ladies to their 
lovers, till I make you ashamed of your love ; and this is 
the way I propose to cure you." Orlando had no great 
faith in the remedy, yet he agreed to come every day to 
Ganymede's cottage, and feign a playful courtship ; and 



78 Tales from Shakspeare 

every day Orlando visited Ganymede and Aliena, and 
Orlando called the shepherd Ganymede his Rosalind, 
and every day talked over all the fine words and flattering 
compliments which young men delight to use when they 
court their mistresses. It does not appear, however, that 
Ganymede made any progress in curing Orlando of his 
love for Rosalind. 

Though Orlando thought all this was but a sportive play 
(not dreaming that Ganymede was his very Rosalind), yet 
the opportunity it gave him of saying all the fond things 
he had in his heart, pleased his fancy almost as well as it did 
Ganymede's, who enjoyed the secret jest in knowing these 
fine love speeches were all addressed to the right person. 

In this manner many days passed pleasantly on with 
these young people ; and the good-natured Aliena, seeing 
it made Ganymede happy, let him have his own way, and 
was diverted at the mock-courtship, and did not care to 
remind Ganymede that the lady Rosalind had not yet made 
herself known to the duke her father, whose place of resort 
in the forest they had learnt from Orlando. Ganymede 
met the duke one day, and had some talk with him, and 
the duke asked of what parentage he came. Ganymede 
answered that he came of as good parentage as he did, 
which made the duke smile, for he did not suspect the 
pretty shepherd-boy came of royal lineage. Then seeing 
the duke look well and happy, Ganymede was content to 
put off all further explanation for a few days longer. 

One morning, as Orlando was going to visit Ganymede, 
he saw a man lying asleep on the ground, and a large 
green snake had twisted itself about his neck. The snake, 
seeing Orlando approach, glided away among the bushes. 
Orlando went nearer, and then he discovered a lioness lie 
crouching, with her head on the ground, with a cat-like 
watch, waiting till the sleeping man awaked (for it is said 



As You Like It 



79 



that lions will prey on nothing that is dead or sleeping). 
It seemed as if Orlando was sent by Providence to free 
the man from the danger of the snake and lioness ; but 
when Orlando looked in the man's face, he perceived that 
the sleeper who was exposed to this double peril, was his 
own brother Oliver, who had so cruelly used him, and had 
threatened to destroy him by fire ; and he was almost 
tempted to leave him a prey to the hungry lioness : but 
brotherly affection and the gentleness of his nature soon 
overcame his first anger against his brother; and he 
drew his sword, and attacked the lioness, and slew her, and 
thus preserved his brother's life both from the venomous 
snake and from the furious lioness : but before Orlando 
could conquer the lioness, she had torn one of his arms 
with her sharp claws. 

While Orlando was engaged with the lioness, Oliver 
awaked, and perceiving that his brother Orlando, whom he 
had so cruelly treated, was saving him from the fury of a 
wild beast at the risk of his own life, shame and remorse 
at once seized him, and he repented of his unworthy con- 
duct, and besought with many tears his brother's pardon 
for the injuries he had done him. Orlando rejoiced to see 
him so penitent, and readily forgave him : they embraced 
each other ; and from that hour Oliver loved Orlando with 
a true brotherly affection, though he had come to the 
forest bent on his destruction. 

The wound in Orlando's arm having bled very much, he 
found himself too weak to go to visit Ganymede, and there- 
fore he desired his brother to go and tell Ganymede, 
"whom," said Orlando, "I in sport do call my Rosalind," 
the accident which had befallen him. 

Thither then Oliver went, and told to Ganymede and 
Aliena how Orlando had saved his life : and when he had 
finished the story of Orlando's bravery, and his own provi- 



86 Tales from Shakspeare 

dential escape, he owned to them that he was Orlando's 
brother, who had so cruelly used him ; and then he told 
them of their reconciliation. 

The sincere sorrow that Oliver expressed for his offences 
made such a lively impression on the kind heart of Aliena, 
that she instantly fell in love with him ; and Oliver observ- 
ing how much she pitied the distress he told her he felt for 
his fault, he as suddenly fell in love with her. But while 
love was thus stealing into the hearts of Aliena and Oliver, 
he was no less busy with Ganymede, who hearing of the 
danger Orlando had been in, and that he was wounded by 
the lioness, fainted ; and when he recovered, he pretended 
that he had counterfeited the swoon in the imaginary char- 
acter of Rosalind, and Ganymede said to Oliver, " Tell 
your brother Orlando how well I counterfeited a swoon." 
But Oliver saw by the paleness of his complexion that he 
did really faint, and much wondering at the weakness of 
the young man, he said, "Well, if you did counterfeit, take 
a good heart, and counterfeit to be a man." " So I do," 
replied Ganymede, truly, "but I should have been a woman 
by right." 

Oliver made this visit a very long one, and when at last 
he returned back to his brother, he had much news to tell 
him ; for besides the account of Ganymede's fainting at the 
hearing that Orlando was wounded, Oliver told him how 
he had fallen in love with the fair shepherdess Aliena, and 
that she had lent a favorable ear to his suit, even in this 
their first interview ; and he talked to his brother, as of a 
thing almost settled, that he should marry Aliena, saying, 
that he so well loved her, that he would live here as a 
shepherd, and settle his estate and house at home upon 
Orlando. 

"You have my consent," said Orlando. "Let your 
wedding be to-morrow, and I will invite the duke and his 



As You Like It 81 

friends. Go and persuade your shepherdess to agree to 
this : she is now alone ; for look, here comes her brother." 
Oliver went to Aliena ; and Ganymede, whom Orlando had 
perceived approaching, came to inquire after the health of 
his wounded friend. 

When Orlando and Ganymede began to talk over the 
sudden love which had taken place between Oliver and 
Aliena, Orlando said he had advised his brother to per- 
suade his fair shepherdess to be married on the morrow, 
and then he added how much he could wish to be married 
on the same day to his Rosalind. 

Ganymede, who well approved of this arrangement, said 
that if Orlando really loved Rosalind as well as he pro- 
fessed to do, he should have his wish ; for on the morrow 
he would engage to make Rosalind appear in her own per- 
son, and also that Rosalind should be willing to marry 
Orlando. 

This seemingly wonderful event, which, as Ganymede 
was the lady Rosalind, he could so easily perform, he pre- 
tended he would bring to pass by the aid of magic, which he 
said he had learnt of an uncle who was a famous magician. 

The fond lover Orlando, half believing and half doubt- 
ing what he heard, asked Ganymede if he spoke in sober 
meaning. " By my life I do," said Ganymede ; "therefore 
put on your best clothes, and bid the duke and your friends 
to your wedding ; for if you desire to be married to-morrow 
to Rosalind, she shall be here." 

The next morning, Oliver having obtained the consent 
of Aliena, they came into the presence of the duke, and 
with them also came Orlando. 

They being all assembled to celebrate this double mar- 
riage, and as yet only one of the brides appearing, there 
was much of wondering and conjecture, but they mostly 
thought that Ganymede was making a jest of Orlando. 



82 Tales from Shakspeare 

The duke, hearing that it was his own daughter that 
was to be brought in this strange way, asked Orlando if he 
believed the shepherd-boy could really do what he had 
promised ; and while Orlando was answering that he knew 
not what to think, Ganymede entered, and asked the duke, 
if he brought his daughter, whether he would consent to 
her marriage with Orlando. "That I would," said the 
duke, "if I had kingdoms to give with her." Ganymede 
then said to Orlando, " And you say you will marry her if I 
bring her here. "That I would," said Orlando, " if I were 
king of many kingdoms." 

Ganymede and Aliena then went out together,' and Gany- 
mede throwing off his male attire, and being once more 
dressed in woman's apparel, quickly became Rosalind with- 
out the power of magic ; and Aliena, changing her coun- 
try garb for her own rich clothes, was with as little trouble 
transformed into the lady Celia. 

While they were gone, the duke said to Orlando, that 
he thought the shepherd Ganymede very like his daughter 
Rosalind ; and Orlando said he, also, had observed the 
resemblance. 

They had no time to wonder how all this would end, for 
Rosalind and Celia in their own clothes entered ; and no 
longer pretending that it was by the power of magic that 
she came there, Rosalind threw herself on her knees before 
her father, and begged his blessing. It seemed so wonder- 
ful to all present that she should so suddenly appear, that 
it might well have passed for magic ; but Rosalind would 
no longer trifle with her father, and told him the story of 
her banishment, and of her dwelling in the forest as a 
shepherd-boy, her cousin Celia passing as her sister. 

The duke ratified the consent he had already given to 
the marriage ; and Orlando and Rosalind, Oliver and 
Celia, were married at the same time. And though their 



As You Like It 83 

wedding could not be celebrated in this wild forest with 
any of the parade or splendor usual on such occasions, 
yet a happier wedding-day was never passed : and while 
they were eating their venison under the cool shade of the 
pleasant trees, as if nothing should be wanting to complete 
the felicity of this good duke and the true lovers, an unex- 
pected messenger arrived to tell the duke the joyful news, 
that his dukedom was restored to him. 

The usurper, enraged at the flight of his daughter Celia, 
and hearing that every day men of great worth resorted to 
the forest of Arden to join the lawful duke in his exile, 
much envying that his brother should be so highly respected 
in his adversity, put himself at the head of a large force, 
and advanced towards the forest, intending to seize his 
brother, and put him with all his faithful followers to the 
sword ; but, by a wonderful interposition of Providence, 
this bad brother was converted from his evil intention ; for 
just as he entered the skirts of the wild forest, he was met 
by an old religious man, a hermit, with whom he had much 
talk, and who in the end completely turned his heart from 
his wicked design. Thenceforward he became a true peni- 
tent, and resolved, relinquishing his unjust dominion, to 
spend the remainder of his days in a religious house. The 
first act of his newly-conceived penitence was to send a mes- 
senger to his brother (as has been related) to offer to restore 
to him his dukedom, which he had usurped so long, and 
with it the lands and revenues of his friends, the faithful 
followers of his adversity. 

This joyful news, as unexpected as it was welcome, came 
opportunely to heighten the festivity and rejoicings at the 
wedding of the princesses. Celia complimented her cousin 
on this good fortune which had happened to the duke, 
Rosalind's father, and wished her joy very sincerely, 
though she herself was no longer heir to the dukedom, 



84 Tales from Shakspeare 

but by this restoration which her father had made, Rosa- 
lind was now the heir : so completely was the love of these 
two cousins unmixed with anything of jealousy or of envy. 
The duke had now an opportunity of rewarding those 
true friends who had stayed with him in his banishment ; 
and these worthy followers, though they had patiently 
shared his adverse fortune, were very well pleased to 
return in peace and prosperity to the palace of their 
lawful duke. 




The Two Gentlemen of Verona 



THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 

There lived in the city of Verona two young gentlemen, 
whose names were Valentine and Proteus, between whom 
a firm and uninterrupted friendship had long subsisted. 
They pursued their studies together, and their hours of 
leisure were always passed in each other's company, ex- 
cept when Proteus visited a lady he was in love with ; and 
these visits to his mistress, and this passion of Proteus for 
the fair Julia, were the only topics on which these two 
friends disagreed; for Valentine, not being himself a 
lover, was sometimes a little weary of hearing his friend 
forever talking of his Julia, and then he would laugh at 
Proteus, and in pleasant terms ridicule the passion of love, 
and declare that no such idle fancies should ever enter his 
head, greatly preferring (as he said) the free and happy 
life he led, to the anxious hopes and fears of the lover 
Proteus. 

One morning Valentine came to Proteus to tell him that 
they must for a time be separated, for that he was going 
to Milan. Proteus, unwilling to part with his friend, used 
many arguments to prevail upon Valentine not to leave 
him ; but Valentine said, " Cease to persuade me, my lov- 
ing Proteus. I will not, like a sluggard, wear out my 
youth in idleness at home. Home-keeping youths have 
ever homely wits. If your affection were not chained to 
the sweet glances of your honored Julia, I would entreat 
you to accompany me, to see the wonders of the world 
abroad ; but since you are a lover, love on still, and may 
your love be prosperous ! " 

87 



88 Tales from Shakspeare 

They parted with mutual expressions of unalterable 
friendship. "Sweet Valentine, adieu!" said Proteus; 
"think on me, when you see some rare object worthy of 
notice in your travels, and wish me partaker of your hap- 
piness." 

Valentine began his journey that same day towards 
Milan ; and when his friend had left him, Proteus sat 
down to write a letter to Julia, which he gave to her maid 
Lucetta to deliver to her mistress. 

Julia loved Proteus as well as he did her, but she was a 
lady of noble spirit, and she thought it did not become her 
maiden dignity too easily to be won ; therefore she affected 
to be insensible of his passion, and gave him much uneasi- 
ness in the prosecution of his suit. 

And when Lucetta offered the letter to Julia, she would 
not receive it, and chid her maid for taking letters from 
Proteus, and ordered her to leave the room. But she so 
much wished to see what was written in the letter, that 
she soon called in her maid again ; and when Lucetta 
returned, she said, " What o'clock is it ? " Lucetta, who 
knew her mistress more desired to see the letter than to 
know the time of day, without answering her question, 
again offered the rejected letter. Julia, angry that her 
maid should thus take the liberty of seeming to know 
what she really wanted, tore the letter in pieces, and 
threw it on the floor, ordering her maid once more out of 
the room. As Lucetta was retiring, she stopped to pick 
up the fragments of the torn letter ; but Julia who meant 
not so to part with them, said, in pretended anger, " Go, 
get you gone, and let the papers lie ; you would be finger- 
ing them to anger me." 

Julia then began to piece together as well as she could 
the torn fragments. She first made out these words, 
"Love-wounded Proteus;" and lamenting over these and 



The Two Gentlemen of Verona 89 

such like loving words, which she made out though they 
were all torn asunder, or, she said, wounded (the expres- 
sion " Love-wounded Proteus " giving her that idea), she 
talked to these kind words, telling them she would lodge 
them in her bosom as in a bed, till their wounds were 
healed, and that she would kiss each several piece, to make 
amends. 

In this manner she went on talking with a pretty lady- 
like childishness, till finding herself unable to make out 
the whole, and vexed at her own ingratitude in destroying 
such sweet and loving words, as she called them, she wrote 
a much kinder letter to Proteus than she had ever done 
before. 

Proteus was greatly delighted at receiving this favorable 
answer to his letter ; and while he was reading it, he ex- 
claimed, " Sweet love, sweet lines, sweet life ! " In the 
midst of his raptures he was interrupted by his father. 
"How now!" said the old gentleman; "what letter are 
you reading there ? " 

"My lord," replied Proteus, "it is a letter from my 
friend Valentine, at Milan." 

"Lend me the letter," said his father: "let me see 
what news." 

" There are no news, my lord," said Proteus, greatly 
alarmed, " but that he writes how well beloved he is of 
the duke of Milan, who daily graces him with favors ; and 
how he wishes me with him, the partner of his fortune." 

"And how stand you affected to his wish?" asked the 
father. 

" As one relying on your lordship's will, and not depend- 
ing on his friendly wish," said Proteus. 

Now it had happened that Proteus' father had just been 
talking with a friend on this very subject ; his friend had 
said, he wondered his lordship suffered his son to spend 



90 Tales from Shakspeare 

his youth at home, while most men were sending their 
sons to seek preferment abroad; "some," said he, " to the 
wars, to try their fortunes there, and some to discover 
islands far away, and some to study in foreign universities ; 
and there is his companion Valentine, he is gone to the 
duke of Milan's court. Your son is fit for any of these 
things, and it will be a great disadvantage to him in his 
riper age not to have travelled in his youth." 

Proteus' father thought the advice of his friend was 
very good, and upon Proteus telling him that Valentine 
"wished him with him, the partner of his fortune," he at 
once determined to send his son to Milan ; and without 
giving Proteus any reason for this sudden resolution, it 
being the usual habit of this positive old gentleman to 
command his son, not reason with him, he said, " My will 
is the same as Valentine's wish;" and seeing his son look 
astonished, he added, " Look not amazed, that I so sud- 
denly resolve you shall spend some time in the duke of 
Milan's court ; for what I will I will, and there is an end. 
To-morrow be in readiness to go. Make no excuses ; for 
I am peremptory." 

Proteus knew it was of no use to make objections to his 
father, who never suffered him to dispute his will ; and he 
blamed himself for telling his father an untruth about 
Julia's letter, which had brought upon him the sad neces- 
sity of leaving her. 

Now that Julia found she was going to lose Proteus for 
so long a time, she no longer pretended indifference ; and 
they bade each other a mournful farewell, with many 
vows of love and constancy. Proteus and Julia exchanged 
rings, which they both promised to keep forever in remem- 
brance of each other ; and thus, taking a sorrowful leave, 
Proteus set out on his journey to Milan, the abode of his 
friend Valentine. 



The Two Gentlemen of Verona 91 

Valentine was in reality what Proteus had feigned to 
his father, in high favor with the duke of Milan ; and 
another event had happened to him, of which Proteus did 
not even dream, for Valentine had given up the freedom 
of which he used so much to boast, and was become as 
passionate a lover as Proteus. 

She who had wrought this wondrous change in Valen- 
tine was the lady Silvia, daughter of the duke of Milan, 
and she also loved him ; but they concealed their love 
from the duke, because although he showed much kind- 
ness for Valentine, and invited him every day to his palace, 
yet he designed to marry his daughter to a young courtier 
whose name was Thurio. Silvia despised this Thurio, for 
he had none of the fine sense and excellent qualities of 
Valentine. 

These two rivals, Thurio and Valentine, were one day 
on a visit to Silvia, and Valentine was entertaining Silvia 
with turning everything Thurio said into ridicule, when 
the duke himself entered the room, and told Valentine the 
welcome news of his friend Proteus' arrival. Valentine 
said, " If I had wished a thing, it would have been to have 
seen him here ! " And then he highly praised Proteus to 
the duke, saying, " My lord, though I have been a truant 
of my time, yet hath my friend made use and fair advan- 
tage of his days, and is complete in person and in mind, 
in all good grace to grace a gentleman." 

"Welcome him then according to his worth," said the 
duke. " Silvia, I speak to you, and you, Sir Thurio ; for 
Valentine, I need not bid him do so." They were here 
interrupted by the entrance of Proteus, and Valentine 
introduced him to Silvia, saying, " Sweet lady, entertain 
him to be my fellow-servant to your ladyship." 

When Valentine and Proteus had ended their visit, and 
were alone together, Valentine said, " Now tell me how all 



o2 Tales from Shakspeare 

does from whence you came ? How does your lady, and 
how thrives your love ? " Proteus replied, " My tales of 
love used to weary you. I know you joy not in a love 
discourse." 

" Ay, Proteus," returned Valentine, " but that life is altered 
now. I have done penance for condemning love. For in 
revenge of my contempt of love, love has chased sleep 
from my enthralled eyes. O gentle Proteus, Love is a 
mighty lord, and hath so humbled me, that I confess there 
is no woe like his correction, nor no such joy on earth as in 
his service. I now like no discourse except it be of love. 
Now I can break my fast, dine, sup, and sleep upon the 
very name of love." 

This acknowledgment of the change which love had 
made in the disposition of Valentine was a great triumph • 
to his friend Proteus. But " friend " Proteus must be 
called no longer, for the same all-powerful deity Love, of 
whom they were speaking (yea, even while they were talk- 
ing of the change he had made in Valentine), was working 
in the heart of Proteus ; and he, who had till this time 
been a pattern of true love and perfect friendship, was 
now, in one short interview with Silvia, become a false 
friend and a faithless lover ; for at the first sight of Silvia 
all his love for Julia vanished away like a dream, nor did 
his long friendship for Valentine deter him from endeav- 
oring to supplant him in her affections ; and although, as it 
will always be, when people of dispositions naturally good 
become unjust, he had many scruples before he deter- 
mined to forsake Julia, and become the rival of Valentine ; 
yet he at length overcame his sense of duty, and yielded 
himself up, almost without remorse, to his new unhappy 
passion. 

Valentine imparted to him in confidence the whole his- 
tory of his love, and how carefully they had concealed it 



The Two Gentlemen of Verona 93 

from the duke her father, and told him, that, despairing of 
ever being able to obtain his consent, he had prevailed 
upon Silvia to leave her father's palace that night, and 
go with him to Mantua ; then he showed Proteus a ladder 
of ropes, by help of which he meant to assist Silvia to 
get out of one of the windows of the palace after it was, 
dark. 

Upon hearing this faithful recital 6f his friend's dearest 
secrets, it is hardly possible to be believed, but so it was, 
that Proteus resolved to go to the duke, and disclose the 
whole to him. 

This false friend began his tale with many artful speeches 
to the duke, such as that by the laws of friendship he ought 
to conceal what he was going to reveal, but that the gra- 
cious favor the duke had shown him, and the duty he owed 
his grace, urged him to tell that which else no worldly 
good should draw from him. He then told all he had 
heard from Valentine, not omitting the ladder of ropes, 
and the manner in which Valentine meant to conceal them 
under a long cloak. 

The duke thought Proteus quite a miracle of integrity, 
in that he preferred telling his friend's intention, rather 
than he would conceal an unjust action, highly commended 
him, and promised him not to let Valentine know from 
whom he had learnt this intelligence, but by some artifice 
to make Valentine betray the secret himself. For this 
purpose the duke awaited the coming of Valentine in the 
evening, whom he soon saw hurrying towards the palace, 
and he perceived somewhat was wrapped within his cloak, 
which he concluded was the rope-ladder. 

The duke upon this stopped him, saying, " Whither 
away so fast, Valentine ? " — " May it please your grace," 
said Valentine, " there is a messenger that stays to bear 
my letters to my friends, and I am going to deliver them." 



94 Tales from Shakspeare 

Now this falsehood of Valentine's had no better success in 
the event than the untruth Proteus told his father. 

" Be they of much import ? " said the duke. 

"No more, my lord," said Valentine, "than to tell my 
father I am well and happy at your grace's court." 

"Nay then," said the duke, "no matter; stay with me a 
while. I wish your counsel about some affairs that concern 
me nearly." He then told Valentine an artful story, as a 
prelude to draw his secret from him, saying that Valentine 
knew he wished to match his daughter with Thurio, but 
that she was stubborn and disobedient to his commands, 
"neither regarding," said he, "that she is my child, nor 
fearing me as if I were her father. And I may say to 
thee, this pride of hers has drawn my love from her. I 
had thought my age should have been cherished by her 
childlike duty. I now am resolved to take a wife, and 
turn her out to whosoever will take her in. Let her beauty 
be her wedding dower, for me and my possessions she 
esteems not." 

Valentine, wondering where all this would end, made 
answer, " And what would your grace have me to do in all 
this ? " 

"Why," said the duke, "the lady I would wish to marry 
is nice and coy, and does not much esteem my aged elo- 
quence. Besides, the fashion of courtship is much changed 
since I was young : now I would willingly have you to be 
my tutor to instruct me how I am to woo." 

Valentine gave him a general idea of the modes of court- 
ship then practised by young men, when they wished to 
win a fair lady's love, such as presents, frequent visits, and 
the like. 

The duke replied to this, that the lady did refuse a 
present which he sent her, and that she was so strictly kept 
by her father, that no man might have access to her by day. 



The Two Gentlemen of Verona 95 

" Why then," said Valentine, " you must visit her by 
night." 

"But at night," said the artful duke, who was now com- 
ing to the drift of his discourse, " her doors are fast 
locked." 

Valentine then unfortunately proposed that the duke 
should get into the lady's chamber at night by means of a 
ladder of ropes, saying he would procure him one fitting 
for that purpose ; and in conclusion advised him to conceal 
this ladder of ropes under such a cloak as that which he 
now wore. " Lend me your cloak," said the duke, who had 
feigned this long story on purpose to have a pretence to 
get off the cloak ; so upon saying these words, he caught 
hold of Valentine's cloak, and throwing it back, he dis- 
covered not only the ladder of ropes, but also a letter of 
Silvia's, which he instantly opened and read ; and this 
letter contained a full account of their intended elopement. 
The duke, after upbraiding Valentine for his ingratitude in 
thus returning the favor he had shown him, by endeavoring 
to steal away his daughter, banished him from the court 
and city of Milan forever; and Valentine was forced to 
depart that night, without even seeing Silvia. 

While Proteus at Milan was thus injuring Valentine, 
Julia at Verona was regretting the absence of Proteus ; and 
her regard for him at last so far overcame her sense of pro- 
priety, that she resolved to leave Verona, and seek her 
lover at Milan ; and to secure herself from danger on the 
road, she dressed her maiden Lucetta and herself in men's 
clothes, and they set out in this disguise, and arrived at 
Milan soon after Valentine was banished from that city 
through the treachery of Proteus. 

Julia entered Milan about noon, and she took up her 
abode at an inn ; and her thoughts being all on her dear 
Proteus, she entered into conversation with the innkeeper, 



96 Tales from Shakspeare 

or host, as he was called, thinking by that means to learn 
some news of Proteus. 

The host was greatly pleased that this handsome young 
gentleman (as he took her to be), who from his appear- 
ance, he concluded, was of high rank, spoke so familiarly 
to him ; and being a good-natured man, he was sorry to 
see him look so melancholy ; and to amuse his young 
guest, he offered to take him to hear some fine music, with 
which, he said, a gentleman that evening was going to sere- 
nade his mistress. 

The reason Julia looked so very melancholy was, that 
she did not well know what Proteus would think of the 
imprudent step she had taken ; for she knew he had loved 
her for her noble maiden pride and dignity of character, and 
she feared she should lower herself in his esteem : and this it 
was that made her wear a sad and thoughtful countenance. 

She gladly accepted the offer of the host to go with him, 
and hear the music ; for she secretly hoped she might meet 
Proteus by the way. 

But when she came to the palace whither the host con- 
ducted her, a very different effect was produced to what 
the kind host intended ; for there, to her heart's sorrow, 
she beheld her lover, the inconstant Proteus, serenading 
the lady Silvia with music, and addressing discourse of love 
and admiration to her. And Julia overheard Silvia from a 
window talk with Proteus, and reproach him for forsaking 
his own true lady, and for his ingratitude to. his friend 
Valentine ; and then Silvia left the window, not choosing 
to listen to his music and his fine speeches ; for she was a 
faithful lady to her banished Valentine, and abhorred the 
ungenerous conduct of his false friend Proteus. 

Though Julia was in despair at what she had just wit- 
nessed, yet did she still love the truant Proteus ; and hear- 
ing that he had lately parted with a servant, she contrived 



The Two Gentlemen of Verona 97 

with the assistance of her host, the friendly innkeeper, to 
hire herself to Proteus as a page ; and Proteus knew not 
she was Julia, and he sent her with letters and presents to 
her rival Silvia, and he even sent by her the very ring she 
gave him as a parting gift at Verona. 

When she went to that lady with the ring, she was most 
glad to find that Silvia utterly rejected the suit of Proteus ; 
and Julia, or the page Sebastian as she was called, entered 
into conversation with Silvia about Proteus' first love, the 
forsaken lady Julia. She putting in (as one may say) a 
good word for herself, said she knew Julia ; as well she 
might, being herself the Julia of whom she spoke ; telling 
how fondly Julia loved her master Proteus, and how his 
unkind neglect would grieve her : and then she with a 
pretty equivocation went on : " Julia is about my height, 
and of my complexion, the color of her eyes and hair the 
same as mine : " and indeed Julia looked a most beautiful 
youth in her boy's attire. Silvia was moved to pity this 
lovely lady, who was so sadly forsaken by the man she loved ; 
and when Julia offered the ring which Proteus had sent, 
refused it, saying, " The more shame for him that he sends 
me that ring ; I will not take it : for I have often heard 
him say his Julia gave it to him. I love thee, gentle youth, 
for pitying her, poor lady ! Here is a purse; I give it you 
for Julia's sake." These comfortable words coming from 
her kind rival's tongue cheered the drooping heart of the 
disguised lady. 

But to return to the banished Valentine ; who scarce 
knew which way to bend his course, being unwilling to 
return home to his father a disgraced and banished man : 
as he was wandering over a lonely forest, not far distant 
from Milan, where he had left his heart's dear treasure, 
the lady Silvia, he was set upon by robbers who demanded 
his money. 



98 Tales from Shakspeare 

Valentine told them that he was a man crossed by ad- 
versity, that he was going into banishment, and that he had 
no money, the clothes he had on being all his riches. 

The robbers, hearing that he was a distressed man, and 
being struck with his noble air and manly behavior, told 
him if he would live with them, and be their chief or cap- 
tain, they would put themselves under his command ; but 
that if he refused to accept their offer they would kill him. 

Valentine, who cared little what became of himself, 
said he would consent to live with them and be their 
captain, provided they did no outrage on women or poor 
passengers. 

Thus the noble Valentine became, like Robin Hood, of 
whom we read in ballads, a captain of robbers and out- 
lawed banditti ; and in this situation he was found by Sil- 
via, and in this manner it came to pass. 

Silvia, to avoid a marriage with Thurio, whom her father 
insisted upon her no longer refusing, came at last to the 
resolution of following Valentine to Mantua, at which place 
she had heard her lover had taken refuge ; but in this 
account she was misinformed, for he still lived in the for- 
est among the robbers, bearing the name of their captain, 
but taking no part in their depredations, and using the 
authority which they had imposed upon him in no other 
way than to compel them to show compassion to the trav- 
ellers they robbed. 

Silvia contrived to effect her escape from her father's 
palace in company with a worthy old gentleman, whose 
name was Eglamour, whom she took along with her for 
protection on the road. She had to pass through the for- 
est where Valentine and the banditti dwelt ; and one of 
these robbers seized on Silvia, and would also have taken 
Eglamour, but he escaped. 

The robber who had taken Silvia, seeing the terror she 



The Two Gentlemen of Verona 99 

was in, bid her not be alarmed, for that he was only going 
to carry her to a cave where his captain lived, and that she 
need not be afraid, for their captain had an honorable mind, 
and always showed humanity to women. Silvia found 
little comfort in hearing she was going to be carried as a 
prisoner before the captain of a lawless banditti. " O Val- 
entine," she cried, "this I endure for thee ! " 

But as the robber was conveying her to the cave of his 
captain, he was stopped by Proteus, who, still attended by 
Julia in the disguise of a page, having heard of the flight 
of Silvia, had traced her steps to this forest. Proteus now 
rescued her from the hands of the robber ; but scarce had 
she time to thank him for the service he had done her, 
before he began to distress her afresh with his love suit ; 
and while he was rudely pressing her to consent to marry 
him, and his page (the forlorn Julia) was standing beside 
him in great anxiety of mind, fearing lest the great service 
which Proteus had just done to Silvia should win her to 
show him some favor, they were all strangely surprised 
with the sudden appearance of Valentine, who, having 
heard his robbers had taken a lady prisoner, came to con- 
sole and relieve her. 

Proteus was courting Silvia, and he was so much 
ashamed of being caught by his friend, that he was all at 
once seized with penitence and remorse ; and he expressed 
such a lively sorrow for the injuries he had done to Valen- 
tine, that Valentine, whose nature was noble and generous, 
even to a romantic degree, not only forgave and restored him 
to his former place in his friendship, but in a sudden flight 
of heroism he said, " I freely do forgive you ; and all the 
interest I have in Silvia, I give it up to you." Julia, who 
was standing beside her master as a page, hearing this 
strange offer, and fearing Proteus would not be able with 

this new-found virtue to refuse Silvia, fainted, and they 
L.ofC 



ioo Tales from Shakspeare 

were all employed in recovering her : else would Silvia 
have been offended at being thus made over to Proteus, 
though she could scarcely think that Valentine would long 
persevere in this overstrained and too generous act of 
friendship. When Julia recovered from the fainting fit, 
she said, " I had forgot, my master ordered me to deliver 
this ring to Silvia." Proteus, looking upon the ring, saw 
that it was the one he gave to Julia, in return for that 
which he received from her, and which he had sent by the 
supposed page to Silvia. " How is this?" said he, ''this 
is Julia's ring : how came you by it, boy ? " Julia answered, 
" Julia herself did give it me, and Julia herself hath brought 
it hither." 

Proteus, now looking earnestly upon her, plainly per- 
ceived that the page Sebastian was no other than the lady 
Julia herself ; and the proof she had given of her con- 
stancy and true love so wrought in him, that his love 
for her returned into his heart, and he took again his own 
dear lady, and joyfully resigned all pretensions to the lady 
Silvia to Valentine, who had so well deserved her. 

Proteus and Valentine were expressing their happiness 
in their reconciliation, and in the love of their faithful 
ladies when they were surprised with the sight of the duke 
of Milan and Thurio, who came there in pursuit of Silvia. 

Thurio first approached and attempted to seize Silvia, 
saying, "Silvia is mine." Upon this Valentine said to him, 
in a very spirited manner, " Thurio, keep back : if once 
again you say that Silvia is yours, you shall embrace your 
death. Here she stands, take but possession of her with a 
touch! I dare you but to breathe upon my love." Hear- 
ing this threat, Thurio, who was a great coward, drew back, 
and said he cared not for her, and that none but a fool 
would fight for a girl who loved him not. 

The duke, who was a very brave man himself, said now 



The Two Gentlemen of Verona 101 

in great anger, " The more base and degenerate in you to 
take such means for her as you have done, and leave her 
on such slight conditions." Then turning to Valentine, he 
said, " I do applaud your spirit, Valentine, and think you 
worthy of an empress's love. You shall have Silvia, for 
you have well deserved her." Valentine then with great 
humility kissed the duke's hand, and accepted the noble 
present which he had made him of his daughter with 
becoming thankfulness : taking occasion of this joyful 
minute to entreat the good-humored duke to pardon the 
thieves with whom he had associated in the forest, assur- 
ing him, that when reformed and restored to society, there 
would be found among them many good, and fit for great 
employment ; for the most of them had been banished, like 
Valentine, for state offences, rather than for any black 
crimes they had been guilty of. To this the ready duke 
consented : and now nothing remained but that Proteus, 
the false friend, was ordained, by way of penance for his 
love-prompted faults, to be present at the recital of the 
whole story of his loves and falsehoods before the duke; 
and the shame of the recital to his awakened conscience 
was judged sufficient punishment : which being done, the 
lovers, all four, returned back to Milan, and their nuptials 
were solemnized in the presence of the duke, with high 
triumphs and feasting. 



L\ 



TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL 

Sebastian and his sister Viola, a young gentleman and 
lady of Messaline, were twins, and (which was accounted 
a great wonder) from their birth they so much resembled 
each other, that, but for the difference in their dress, they 
could not be known apart. They were both born in one 
hour, and in one hour they were both in danger of perish-' 
ing, for they were shipwrecked on the coast of Illyria, as 
they were making a sea-voyage together. The ship, on 
board of which they were, split on a rock in a violent 
storm, and a very small number of the ship's company 
escaped with their lives. The .captain of the vessel 
with a few sailors that were saved, got to land in a small 
boat, and with them they brought Viola safe on shore, 
where she, poor lady, instead of rejoicing at her own deliver- 
ance, began to lament her brother's loss ; but the captain 
comforted her with the assurance that he had seen her 
brother, when the ship split, fasten himself to a strong 
mast, on which, as long as he could see anything of him 
for the distance, he perceived him borne up above the 
waves. Viola was much consoled by the hope this account 
gave her, and now considered how she was to dispose of 
herself in a strange country so far from home ; and she 
asked the captain if he knew anything of Illyria. " Ay, 
very well, madam," replied the captain, "for I was born 
not three hours' travel from this place." — "Who governs 
here ? " said Viola. The captain told her, Illyria was 
governed by Orsino, a duke noble in nature as well as 
dignity. Viola said, she had heard her father speak of 

102 




Twelfth Night 



Twelfth Night 105 

Orsino, and that he was unmarried then. " And he is so 
now," said the captain ; "or was so very lately, for, but a 
month ago, I went from here, and then it was the general 
talk (as you know what great ones do, the people will 
prattle of) that Orsino sought the love of fair Olivia, a 
virtuous maid, the daughter of a count who died twelve 
months ago, leaving Olivia to the protection of her 
brother, who shortly after died also ; and for the love of 
this dear brother, they say, she has abjured the sight and^' 
company of men." Viola, who was herself in such a sad 
affliction for her brother's loss, wished she could live with 
this lady, who so tenderly mourned a brother's death. 
She asked the captain if he could introduce her to Olivia, 
saying she would willingly serve this lady. But he re- 
plied, this would be a hard thing to accomplish, because 
the Lady Olivia would admit no person into her house 
since her brother's death, not even the duke himself. 
Then Viola formed another project in her mind, which 
was, in a man's habit, to serve the duke Orsino as a page. 
It was a strange fancy in a young lady to put on male 
attire, and pass for a boy ; but the forlorn and unprotected 
state of Viola, who was young and of uncommon beauty, 
alone, and in a foreign land, must plead her excuse. 

She having observed a fair behavior in the captain, and 
that he showed a friendly concern for her welfare, in- 
trusted him with her design, and he readily engaged to 
assist her. Viola gave him money, and directed him to 
furnish her with suitable apparel, ordering her clothes 
to be made of the same color and in the same fashion her 
brother Sebastian used to wear, and when she was dressed 
in her manly garb, she looked so exactly like her brother 
that some strange errors happened by means of their be- 
ing mistaken for each other ; for, as will afterwards appear, 
Sebastian was also saved. 



106 Tales from Shakspeare 

Viola's good friend, the captain, when he had trans- 
formed this pretty lady into a gentleman, having some 
interest at court, got her presented to Orsino under the 
feigned name of Cesario. The duke was wonderfully 
pleased with the address and graceful deportment of this 
handsome youth, and made Cesario one of his pages, that 
being the office Viola wished to obtain : and she so well 
fulfilled the duties of her new station, and showed such a 
ready observance and faithful attachment to her lord, that 
she soon became his most favored attendant. To Cesario 
Orsino confided the whole history of his love for the lady 
Olivia. To Cesario he told the long and unsuccessful 
suit he had made to one who, rejecting his long services 
and despising his person, refused to admit him to her 
presence ; and for the love of this lady who had so un- 
kindly treated him, the noble Orsino, forsaking the sports 
of the field and all manly exercises in which he used to 
delight, passed his hours in ignoble sloth, listening to the 
effeminate sounds of soft music, gentle airs, and passionate 
love-songs ; and neglecting the company of the wise and 
learned lords with whom he used to associate, he was now 
all day long conversing with young Cesario. Unmeet 
companion no doubt his grave courtiers thought Cesario 
was for their once noble master, the great duke Orsino. 

It is a dangerous matter for young maidens to be the 
confidants of handsome young dukes ; which Viola too 
soon found to her sorrow, for all that Orsino told her he 
endured for Olivia, she presently perceived she suffered 
for the love of him ; and much it moved her wonder, that 
Olivia could be so regardless of this her peerless lord and 
master, whom she thought no one could behold without 
the deepest admiration, and she ventured gently to hint to 
Orsino, that it was a pity he should affect a lady who was 
so blind to his worthy qualities ; and she said, " If a lady 



Twelfth Night 107 

were to love you, my lord, as you love Olivia (and perhaps 
there may be one who does), if you could not love her in 
return, would you not tell her that you could not love, and 
must she not be content with this answer ? " But Orsino ) 
would not admit of this reasoning, for he denied that it 
was possible for any woman to love as he did. He said, no 
woman's heart was big enough to hold so much love, and 
therefore it was unfair to compare the love of any lady 
for him, to his love for Olivia. Now, though Viola had 
the utmost deference for the duke's opinions, she could 
not help thinking this was not quite true ; for she thought 
her heart had full as much love in it as Orsino's had ; and 
she said, "Ah, but I know, my lord." — "What do you 
know, Cesario ?" said Orsino. " Too well I know," replied 
Viola, "what love women may owe to men. They are as 
true of heart as we are. My father had a daughter loved 
a man, as I perhaps, were I a woman, should love your 
lordship." — "And what is her history?" said Orsino. 
"A blank, my lord," replied Viola: "she never told her 
love, but let concealment, like a worm in the bud, feed on 
her damask cheek. She pined in thought, and with a 
green and yellow melancholy, she sat like Patience on a 
monument, smiling at Grief." The duke inquired if this 
lady died of her love, but to this question Viola returned 
an evasive answer ; as probably she had feigned the story, 
to speak words expressive of the secret love and silent 
grief she suffered for Orsino. 

While they were talking a gentleman entered whom the 
duke had sent to Olivia, and he said, " So please you, my 
lord, I might not be admitted to the lady, but by her hand- 
maid she returned you this answer : " Until seven years 
hence, the element itself shall not behold her face ; but like 
a cloistress she will walk veiled, watering her chamber with 
her tears for the sad remembra- ce of her dead brother." 



108 Tales from Shakspeare 

On hearing this, the duke exclaimed, " O she that has a 
heart of this fine frame, to pay this debt of love to a dead 
brother, how will she love, when the rich golden shaft has 
touched her heart!" And then he said to Viola, " You 
know, Cesario, I have told you all the secrets of my heart ; 
therefore, good youth, go to Olivia's house. Be not denied 
access ; stand at her doors, and tell her, there your fixed 
foot shall grow till you have audience." — "And if I do 
speak to her, my lord, what then ? " said Viola. " O then," 
replied Orsino, "unfold to her the passion of my love. 
Make a long discourse to her of my dear faith. It will 
well become you to act my woes, for she will attend more 
to you than to one of graver aspect." 

Away then went Viola ; but not willingly did she under- 
take this courtship, for she was to woo a lady to become a 
wife to him she wished to marry : but having undertaken 
the affair, she performed it with fidelity ; and Olivia soon 
heard that a youth was at her door who insisted upon being 
admitted to her presence. " I told him," said the servant, 
" that you were sick : he said he knew you were, and there- 
fore he came to speak with you. I told him that you were 
asleep ; he seemed to have a foreknowledge of that too, 
and said, that therefore he must speak with you. What is 
to be said to him, lady ? for he seems fortified against all 
denial, and will speak with you, whether you will or no." 
Olivia, curious to see who this peremptory messenger might 
be, desired he might be admitted ; and throwing her veil 
over her face, she said she would once more hear Orsino's 
embassy, not doubting but that he came from the duke, by 
his importunity. Viola, entering, put on the most manly 
air she could assume, and affecting the fine courtier lan- 
guage of great men's pages, she said to the veiled lady, 
" Most radiant, exquisite, and matchless beauty, I pray you 
tell me if you are the lady of the house; for I should be 



Twelfth Night 109 

sorry to cast away my speech upon another ; for besides 
that it is excellently well penned, I have taken great pains 
to learn it." — " Whence come you, sir ? " said Olivia. " I 
can say little more than I have studied," replied Viola; 
" and that question is out of my part." — " Are you a come- 
dian ? " said Olivia. " No," replied Viola; "and yet I am 
not that which I play ; " meaning that she, being a woman, 
feigned herself to be a man. And again she asked Olivia 
if she were the lady of the house. Olivia said she was ; 
and then Viola, having more curiosity to see her rival's fea- 
tures, than haste to deliver her master's message, said, 
" Good madam, let me see your face." With this bold 
request Olivia was not averse to comply ; for this haughty 
beauty, whom the duke Orsino had loved so long in vain, 
at first sight conceived a passion for the supposed page, 
the humble Cesario. 

When Viola asked to see her face, Olivia said, " Have 
you any commission from your lord and master to negoti- 
ate with my face ? " And then, forgetting her determina- 
tion to go veiled for seven long years, she drew aside her 
veil, saying, " But I will draw the curtain and show the 
picture. Is it not well done?" Viola replied, "It is 
beauty truly mixed ; the red and white upon your cheeks 
is by Nature's own cunning hand laid on. You are the 
most cruel lady living, if you will lead these graces to the 
grave and leave the world no copy." — " O, sir," replied 
Olivia, " I will not be so cruel. The world may have an 
inventory of my beauty. As, item, two lips, indifferent 
red ; item, two gray eyes, with lids to them ; one neck ; 
one chin ; and so forth. Were you sent here to praise 
me ? " Viola replied, " I see what you are : you are too 
proud, but you are fair. My lord and master loves you. 
O such a love could but be recompensed, though you were 
crowned the queen of beauty : for Orsino loves you with 



no -Tales from Shakspeare 

adoration and with tears, with groans that thunder love, 
and sighs of fire." — " Your lord," said Olivia, " knows 
well my mind. I cannot love him ; yet I doubt not he is 
virtuous ; I know him to be noble and of high estate, of 
fresh and spotless youth. All voices proclaim him learned, 
courteous, and valiant ; yet I cannot love him. He might 
have taken his answer long ago." — "If I did love you as 
my master does," said Viola, " I would make me a willow 
cabin at your gates, and call upon your name; I would 
write complaining sonnets on Olivia, and sing them in the 
dead of the night ; your name should sound among the 
hills, and I would make Echo, the babbling gossip of 
the air, cry out Olivia. O you should not rest between 
the elements of earth and air, but you should pity me." — 
"You might do much," said Olivia : "what is your parent- 
age ? " Viola replied, " Above my fortunes, yet my state is 
well. I am a gentleman." Olivia now reluctantly dismissed 
Viola, saying, " Go to your master, and tell him, I cannot 
love him. Let him send no more, unless perchance you 
come again to tell me how he takes it." And Viola de- 
parted, bidding the- lady farewell by the name of Fair 
Cruelty. When she was gone, Olivia repeated the words, 
Above my fortunes, yet 'my state is well. I am a gentle- 
man. And she said aloud, " I will be sworn he is ; his 
tongue, his face, his limbs, action, and spirit, plainly show 
he is a gentleman." And then she wished Cesario was^ 
the duke ; and perceiving the fast hold he had- taken on 
her affections, she blamed herself for her sudden love : but 
the gentle blame which people lay upon their own faults 
has no deep root ; and presently the noble lady Olivia so 
far forgot the inequality between her fortunes and those 
of this seeming page, as well as the maidenly reserve 
which is the chief ornament of a lady's character, that she 
resolved to court the love of young Cesario, and sent a 



Twelfth Night in 

servant after him with a diamond ring, under the pretence 
that he had left it with her as a present from Orsino. She 
hoped by thus artfully making Cesario a present of the 
ring, she should give him some intimation of her design ; 
and truly it did make Viola suspect ; for knowing that Or- 
sino had sent no ring by her, she began to recollect that 
Olivia's looks and manner were expressive of admiration, 
and she presently guessed her master's mistress had fallen 
in love with her. "Alas," said she, " the poor lady might 
as well love a dream. Disguise I see is wicked, for it has 
caused Olivia to breathe as fruitless sighs for me as I do for 
Orsino." 

Viola returned to Orsino's palace, and related to her 
lord the ill success of the negotiation, repeating the com- 
mand of Olivia, that the duke should trouble her no more. 
Yet still the duke persisted in hoping that the gentle 
Cesario would in time be able to persuade her to show 
some pity, and therefore he bade him he should go to her 
again the next day. In the meantime, to pass away the 
tedious interval, he commanded a song which he loved to 
be sung ; and he said, " My good Cesario, when I heard 
that song last night, methought it did relieve my passion 
much. Mark it, Cesario, it is old and plain. The spinsters 
and the knitters when they sit in the sun, and the young 
maids that weave their thread with bone, chant this song. 
It is silly, yet I love it, for it tells of the innocence of love 
in the old times." 

SONG 

Come away, come away, Death, 

And in sad cypress let me be laid ; 
Fly away, fly away, breath, 

I am slain by a fair cruel maid. 
My shroud of white stuck all with yew, O prepare it ! 
My part of death no one so true did share it. 



112 Tales from Shakspeare 

Not a flower, not a flower sweet, 

On my black coffin let there be strewn : 
Not a friend, not a friend greet 
My poor corpse? where my bones shall be thrown. 
A thousand thousand sighs to save, lay me O where 
Sad true lover never find my grave, to weep there ! 

Viola did not fail to mark the words of the old song, 
which in such true simplicity described the pangs of un- 
requited love, and she bore testimony in her countenance 
of feeling what the song expressed. Her sad looks were 
observed by Orsino, who said to her, " My life upon it, 
Cesario, though you are so young, your eye has looked 
upon some face that it loves : has it not, boy ? " — "A little, 
with your leave," replied Viola. " And what kind of 
woman, and of what age is she ? " said Orsino. " Of your 
age and of your complexion, my lord," said Viola; which 
made the duke smile to hear this fair young boy loved a 
woman so much older than himself, and of a man's dark 
complexion ; but Viola secretly meant Orsino, and not a 
woman like him. 

When Viola made her second visit to Olivia, she found no 
difficulty in gaining access to her. Servants soon discover 
when their ladies delight to converse with handsome young 
messengers ; and the instant Viola arrived, the gates were 
thrown wide open, and the duke's page was shown into 
Olivia's apartment with great respect; and when Viola 
told Olivia that she was come once more to plead in her 
lord's behalf, this lady said, " I desired you never to speak 
of him again ; but if you would undertake another suit, I 
had rather hear you solicit, than music from the spheres." 
This was pretty plain speaking, but Olivia soon explained 
herself still more plainly, and openly confessed her love ; 
and when she saw displeasure with perplexity expressed 
in Viola's face, she said, " O what a deal of scorn looks 



Twelfth Night 113 

beautiful in the contempt and anger of his lip ! Cesario, 
by the roses of the spring, by maidhood, honor, and by 
truth, I love you so, that, in spite of your pride, I have 
neither wit nor reason to conceal my passion." But in vain 
the lady wooed ; Viola hastened from her presence, threat- 
ening never more to come to plead Orsino's love ; and all 
the reply she made to Olivia's fond solicitation was, a dec- 
laration of a resolution Never to love any woman. 

No sooner had Viola left the lady than a claim was made 
upon her valor. A gentleman, a rejected suitor of Olivia, 
who had learned how that lady had favored the duke's 
messenger, challenged him to fight a duel. What should 
poor Viola do, who, though she carried a manlike outside, 
had a true woman's heart, and feared to look on her own 
sword ? 

When she saw her formidable rival advancing towards 
her with his sword drawn, she began to think of confess- 
ing that she was a woman ; but she was relieved at once 
from her terror, and the shame of such a discovery, by a 
stranger that was passing by, who made up to them, and 
as if he had been long known to her, and were her dearest 
friend, said to her opponent, " If this young gentleman has 
done offence, I will take the fault on me ; and if you 
offend him, I will for his sake defy you." Before Viola 
had time to thank him for his protection, or to inquire the 
reason of his kind interference, her new friend met with an 
enemy where his bravery was of no use to him ; for the 
officers of justice coming up in that instant, apprehended 
the stranger in the duke's name, to answer for an offence 
he had committed some years before ; and he said to Viola, 
" This comes with seeking you : " and then he asked her 
for a parse, saying, " Now my necessity makes me ask for 
my purse, and it grieves me much more for what I cannot 
do for you, than for what befalls myself. You stand 



114 Tales from Shakspeare 

amazed, but be of comfort." His words did indeed amaze 
Viola, and she protested she knew him not, nor had ever 
received a purse from him ; but for the kindness he had 
just shown her, she offered him a small sum of money, 
being nearly the whole she possessed. And now the 
stranger spoke severe things, charging her with ingrati- 
tude and unkindness. He said, " This youth, whom you 
see here, I snatched from the jaws of death, and for his 
sake alone I came to Illyria, and have fallen into this 
danger." But the officers cared little for hearkening to 
the complaints of their prisoner, and they hurried him off, 
saying, "What is that to us?" And as he was carried 
away, he called Viola by the name of Sebastian, reproach- 
ing the supposed Sebastian for disowning his friend, as 
long as he was within hearing. When Viola heard her- 
self called Sebastian, though the stranger was taken away 
too hastily for her to ask an explanation, she conjectured 
that this seeming mystery might arise from her being mis- 
taken for her brother ; and she began to cherish hopes 
that it was her brother whose life this man said he pre- , 
served. And so indeed it was. The stranger, whose name 
was Antonio, was a sea-captain. He had taken Sebastian 
up into his ship, when, almost exhausted with fatigue, 
he was floating on the mast to which he had fastened 
himself in the storm. Antonio conceived such a friend- 
ship for Sebastian, that he resolved to accompany him 
whithersoever he went ; and when the youth expressed a 
curiosity to visit Orsino's court, Antonio, rather than part 
from him, came to Illyria, though he knew, if his person 
should be known there, his life would be in danger, be- 
cause in a sea-fight he had once dangerously wounded the 
duke Orsino's nephew. This was the offence for which he 
was now made a prisoner. 

Antonio and Sebastian had landed together but a few 



Twelfth Night 115 

hours before Antonio met Viola. He had given his purse 
to Sebastian, desiring him to use it freely if he saw any- 
thing he wished to purchase, telling him he would wait 
at the inn, while Sebastian went to view the town ; but 
Sebastian not returning at the time appointed, Antonio 
had ventured out to look for him, and Viola being dressed 
the same, and in face so exactly resembling her brother, 
Antonio drew his sword (as he thought) in defence of the 
youth he had saved, and when Sebastian (as he supposed) 
disowned him, and denied him his own purse, no wonder 
he accused him of ingratitude. 

Viola, when Antonio was gone, fearing a second invita- 
tion to fight, slunk home as fast as she could. She had 
not been long gone, when her adversary thought he saw 
her return ; but it was her brother Sebastian, who hap- 
pened to arrive at this place, and he said, " Now, sir, have 
I met with you again ? There's for you ; " and struck him 
a blow. Sebastian was no coward ; he returned the blow 
with interest, and drew his sword. 

A lady now put a stop to this duel, for Olivia came out 
of the house, and she too mistaking Sebastian for Cesario, 
invited him to come into her house, expressing much sor- 
row at the rude attack he had met with. Though Sebas- 
tian was as much surprised at the courtesy of this lady as 
at the rudeness of his unknown foe, yet he went very will- 
ingly into the house, and Olivia was delighted to find 
Cesario (as she thought him) become more sensible of her 
attentions ; for though their features were exactly the 
same, there was none of the contempt and anger to be 
seen in his face, which she had complained of when she 
told her love to Cesario. 

Sebastian did not at all object to the fondness the lady 
lavished on him. He seemed to take it in very good part, 
yet he wondered how it had come to pass, and he was 



n6 Tales from Shakspeare 

rather inclined to think Olivia was not in her right senses ,* 
but perceiving that she was mistress of a fine house, and 
that she ordered her affairs and seemed to govern her 
family discreetly, and that in all but her sudden love for 
him she appeared in the full possession of her reason, he 
well approved of the courtship ; and Olivia finding Cesario 
in this good humor, and fearing he might change his 
mind, proposed that, as she had a priest in the house, they 
should be instantly married. Sebastian assented to this 
proposal; and when the marriage ceremony was over, he 
left his lady for a short time, intending to go and tell his 
friend Antonio the good fortune that he had met with. 
In the meantime Orsino came to visit Olivia : and at the 
moment he arrived before Olivia's house, the officers of 
justice brought their prisoner, Antonio, before the duke. 
Viola was with Orsino, her master ; and when Antonio 
saw Viola, whom he still imagined to be Sebastian, he told 
the duke in what manner he had rescued this youth from 
the perils of the sea ; and after fully relating all the kind- 
ness he had really shown to Sebastian, he ended his com- 
plaint with saying, that for three months, both day and 
night, this ungrateful youth had been with him. But now 
the lady Olivia coming forth from her house, the duke 
could no longer attend to Antonio's story; and he said, 
" Here comes the countess : now Heaven walks on earth ! 
but for thee, fellow, thy words are madness. Three 
months has this youth attended on me ; " and then he or- 
dered Antonio to be taken aside. But Orsino' s heavenly 
countess soon gave the duke cause to accuse Cesario as 
much of ingratitude as Antonio had done, for all the 
words he could hear Olivia speak were words of kindness 
to Cesario : and when he found his page had obtained 
this high place in Olivia's favor he threatened him with 
all the terrors of his just revenge ; and as he was going to 



Twelfth Night 117 

depart, he called Viola to follow him, saying, " Come, boy, 
with me. My thoughts are ripe for mischief." Though 
it seemed in his jealous rage he was going to doom Viola 
to instant death, yet her love made her no longer a coward, 
and she said she would most joyfully suffer death to give 
her master ease. But Olivia would not so lose her hus- 
band, and she cried, "Where goes my Cesario ? " Viola 
replied, "After him I love more than my life." Olivia, 
however, prevented their departure by loudly proclaiming 
that Cesario was her husband, and sent for the priest, who 
declared that not two hours had passed since he had mar- 
ried the lady Olivia to this young man. In vain Viola 
protested she was not married to Olivia ; the evidence of 
that lady and the priest made Orsino believe that his page 
had robbed him of the treasure he prized above his life. 
But thinking that it was past recall, he was bidding fare- 
well to his faithless mistress, and the young dissembler, 
her husband, as he called Viola, warning her never to 
come in his sight again, when (as it seemed to them) a 
miracle appeared ! for another Cesario entered, and ad- 
dressed Olivia as his wife. This new Cesario was Sebas- 
tian, the real husband of Olivia ; and when their wonder 
had a little ceased at seeing two persons with the same 
face, the same voice, and the same habit, the brother and 
sister began to question each other ; for Viola could scarce 
be persuaded that her brother was living, and Sebastian 
knew not how to account for the sister he supposed 
drowned being found in the habit of a young man. But 
Viola presently acknowledged that she was indeed Viola, 
and his sister, under that disguise. 

When all the errors were cleared up which the extreme 
likeness between this twin brother and sister had occa- 
sioned, they laughed at the lady Olivia for the pleasant 
mistake she had made in falling in love with a woman ; 



1 1 8 Tales from Shakspeare 

and Olivia showed no dislike to her exchange, when she 
found she had wedded the brother instead of the sister. 

The hopes of Orsino were forever at an end by this 
marriage of Olivia, and with his hopes, all his fruitless 
love seemed to vanish away, and all his thoughts were 
fixed on the event of his favorite, young Cesario, being 
changed into a fair lady. He viewed Viola with great 
attention, and he remembered how very handsome he had 
always thought Cesario was, and he concluded she would 
look very beautiful in a woman's attire ; and then he 
remembered how often she had said she loved him, which 
at the time seemed only the dutiful expression of a faithful 
page ; but now he guessed that something more was 
meant, for many of her pretty sayings, which were like 
riddles to him, came now into his mind, and he no sooner 
remembered all these things than he resolved to make 
Viola his wife ; and he said to her (he still could not help 
calling her Cesario and boy), " Boy, you have said to me a 
thousand times that you should never love a woman like 
to me, and for the faithful service you have done for me 
so much beneath your soft and tender breeding, and since 
you have called me master so long, you shall now be your 
master's mistress, and Orsino's true duchess." 

Olivia, perceiving Orsino was making over that heart, 
which she had so ungraciously rejected, to Viola, invited 
them to enter her house, and offered the assistance of the 
good priest, who had married her to Sebastian in the morn- 
ing, to perform the same ceremony in the remaining part 
of the day for Orsino and Viola. Thus the twin brother and 
sister were both wedded on the same day : the storm and 
shipwreck, which had separated them, being the means of 
bringing to pass their high and mighty fortunes. Viola was 
the wife of Orsino, the duke of Illyria, and Sebastian the 
husband of the rich and noble countess, the lady Olivia. 




Macbeth 



MACBETH 

When Duncan the Meek reigned king of Scotland, there 
lived a great thane, or lord, called Macbeth. This Mac- 
beth was a near kinsman to the king, and in great esteem 
at court for his valor and conduct in the wars ; an example 
of which he had lately given, in defeating a rebel army 
assisted by the troops of Norway in terrible numbers. 

The two Scottish generals, Macbeth and Banquo, return- 
ing victorious from this great battle, their way lay over 
a blasted heath, where they were stopped by the strange 
appearance of three figures like women, except that they 
had beards, and their withered skins and wild attire made 
them look not like any earthly creatures. Macbeth first 
addressed them, when they, seemingly offended, laid each 
one her choppy finger upon her skinny lips, in token of 
silence ; and the first of them saluted Macbeth with the 
title of thane of Glamis. The general was not a little 
startled to find himself known by such creatures ; but how 
much more, when the second of them followed up that 
salute by giving him the title of thane of Cawdor, to which 
honor he had no pretensions ; and again the third bid 
him " All hail! king that shalt be hereafter!" Such a 
prophetic greeting might well amaze him, who knew that 
while the king's sons lived he could not hope to succeed to 
the throne. Then turning to Banquo, they pronounced 
him, in a sort of riddling terms, to be lesser than Macbeth 
and greater ! not so Jiappy, but much happier ! and proph- 
esied that, though he should never reign, yet his sons 
after him should be kings in Scotland. They then turned 

123 



124 Tales from Shakspeare 

into air, and vanished : by which the generals knew them 
to be the weird sisters, or witches. 

While they stood pondering on the strangeness of this 
adventure, there arrived certain messengers from the king, 
who were empowered by him to confer upon Macbeth the 
dignity of thane of Cawdor : an event so miraculously cor- 
responding with the prediction of the witches astonished 
Macbeth, and he stood wrapped in amazement, unable to 
make reply to the messengers ; and in that point of time 
swelling hopes arose in his mind that the prediction of the 
third witch might in like manner have its accomplishment, 
and that he should one day reign king in Scotland. 

Turning to Banquo, he said, " Do you not hope that 
your children shall be kings, when what the witches prom- 
ised to me has so wonderfully come to pass ? " " That 
hope," answered the general, "might enkindle you to aim 
at the throne ; but oftentimes these ministers of darkness 
tell us truths in little things, to betray us into deeds of 
greatest consequence." 

But the wicked suggestions of the witches had sunk 
too deep into the mind of Macbeth to allow him to attend 
to the warnings of the good Banquo. From that time 
he bent all his thoughts how to compass the throne of 
Scotland. 

Macbeth had a wife, to whom he communicated the 
strange prediction of the weird sisters, and its partial ac- 
complishment. She was a bad, ambitious woman, and so as 
her husband and herself could arrive at greatness, she cared 
not much by what means. She spurred on the reluctant 
purpose of Macbeth, who felt compunction at the thoughts 
of blood, and did not cease to represent the murder of the 
king as a step absolutely necessary to the fulfilment of the 
flattering prophecy. 

It happened at this time that the king, who out of his 



Macbeth 125 

royal condescension would oftentimes visit his principal 
nobility upon gracious terms, came to Macbeth's house, 
attended by his two sons, Malcolm and Donalbain, and a 
numerous train of thanes and attendants, the more to 
honor Macbeth for the triumphal success of his wars. 

The castle of Macbeth was pleasantly situated, and the 
air about it was sweet and wholesome, which appeared by 
the nests which the martlet, or swallow, had built under all 
the jutting friezes and buttresses of the building, where- 
ever it found a place of advantage ; for where those birds 
most breed and haunt, the air is observed to be delicate. 
The king entered well-pleased with the place, and not less 
so with the attentions and respect of his honored hostess, 
lady Macbeth, who had the art of covering treacherous 
purposes with smiles ; and could look like the innocent 
flower, while she was indeed the serpent under it. 

The king being tired with his journey, went early to bed, 
and in his state-room two grooms of his chamber (as was 
the custom) slept beside him. He had been unusually 
pleased with his reception, and had made presents before 
he retired to his principal officers ; and among the rest, 
had sent a rich diamond to lady Macbeth, greeting her by 
the name of his most kind hostess. 

Now was the middle of night, when over half the world 
nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse men's minds 
asleep, and none but the wolf and the murderer is abroad. 
This was the time when lady Macbeth waked to plot the 
murder of the king. She would not have undertaken a 
deed so abhorrent to her sex, but that she feared her hus- 
band's nature, that it was too full of the milk of human 
kindness, to do a contrived murder. She knew him to be 
ambitious, but withal to be scrupulous, and not yet pre- 
pared for that height of crime which commonly in the end 
accompanies inordinate ambition. She had won him to 



126 Tales from Shakspeare 

consent to the murder, but she doubted his resolution; and 
she feared that the natural tenderness of his disposition 
(more humane than her own) would come between, and 
defeat the purpose. So with her own hands armed with 
a dagger, she approached the king's bed ; having taken 
care to ply the grooms of his chamber so with wine, that 
they slept intoxicated, and careless of their charge. There 
lay Duncan in a sound sleep after his fatigues of his jour- 
ney, and as she viewed him earnestly, there was something 
in his face, as he slept, which resembled her own father ; 
and she had not the courage to proceed. 

She returned to confer with her husband. His resolu- 
tion had begun to stagger. He considered that there were 
strong reasons against the deed. In the first place, he was 
not only a subject, but a near kinsman to the king; and 
he had been his host and entertainer that day, whose duty, 
by the laws of hospitality, it was to shut the door against 
his murderers, not bear the knife himself. Then he con- 
sidered how just and merciful a king this Duncan had 
been, how clear of offence to his subjects, how loving to 
his nobility, and in particular to him ; that such kings are 
the peculiar care of Heaven, and their subjects doubly 
bound to revenge their deaths. Besides, by the favors 
of the king, Macbeth stood high in the opinion of all sorts 
of men, and how would those honors be stained by the 
reputation of so foul a murder ! 

In these conflicts of the mind lady Macbeth found her 
husband inclining to the better part, and resolving to pro- 
ceed no further. But she being a woman not easily shaken 
from her evil purpose, began to pour in at his ears words 
which infused a portion of her own spirit into his* mind, as- 
signing reason upon reason why he should not shrink from 
what he had undertaken ; how easy the deed was ; how 
soon it would be over ; and how the action of one short 



Macbeth 127 

night would give to all their nights and days to come sov- 
ereign sway and royalty ! Then she threw contempt on 
his change of purpose, and accused him of fickleness and 
cowardice ; and declared that she had given suck, and 
knew how tender it was to love the babe that milked her ; 
but she would, while it was smiling in her face, have 
plucked it from her breast, and dashed its brains out, if 
she had so sworn to do it, as he had sworn to perform that 
murder. Then she added, how practicable it was to lay 
the guilt of the deed upon the drunken sleepy grooms. 
And with the valor of her tongue she so chastised his 
sluggish resolutions, that he once more summoned up 
courage to the bloody business. 

So, taking the dagger in his hand, he softly stole in the 
dark to the room where Duncan lay ; and as he went, he 
thought he saw another dagger in the air, with the handle 
towards him, and on the blade and at the point of it drops 
of blood ; but when he tried to grasp at it, it was nothing 
but air, a mere phantasm proceeding from his own hot 
and oppressed brain and the business he had in hand. 

Getting rid of this fear, he entered the king's room, 
whom he despatched with one stroke of his dagger. Just 
as he had done the murder, one of the grooms, who slept 
in the chamber, laughed in his sleep, and the other cried 
" Murder," which woke them both ; but they said a short 
prayer ; one of them said, " God bless us ! " and the other 
answered " Amen ; " and addressed themselves to sleep 
again. Macbeth, who stood listening to them, tried to say, 
" Amen," when the fellow said, " God bless us ! " but, 
though he had most need of a blessing, the word stuck in 
his throat, and he could not pronounce it. 

Again he thought he heard a voice which cried, " Sleep 
no more : Macbeth doth murder sleep, the innocent sleep, 
that nourishes life." Still it cried, " Sleep no more," to all 



128 Tales from Shakspeare 

the house. "Glamis hath murdered sleep, and therefore 
Cawdor shall sleep no more, Macbeth shall sleep no 
more." 

With such horrible imaginations Macbeth returned to 
his listening wife, who began to think he had failed of his 
purpose, and that the deed was somehow frustrated. He 
came in so distracted a state, that she reproached him with 
his want of firmness, and sent him to wash his hands of 
the blood which stained them, while she took his dagger, 
with purpose to stain the cheeks of the grooms with blood, 
to make it seem their guilt. 

Morning came, and with it the discovery of the murder, 
which could not be concealed ; and though Macbeth and 
his lady made great show of grief, and the proofs against 
the grooms (the dagger being produced against them and 
their faces smeared with blood) were sufficiently strong, 
yet the entire suspicion fell upon Macbeth, whose induce- 
ments to such a deed were so much more forcible than 
such poor silly grooms could be supposed to have ; and 
Duncan's two sons fled. Malcolm, the eldest, sought for 
refuge in the English court ; and the youngest, Donalbain, 
made his escape to Ireland. 

The king's sons, who should have succeeded him, having 
thus vacated the throne, Macbeth as next heir was crowned 
king, and thus the prediction of the weird sisters was 
literally accomplished. 

Though placed so high, Macbeth and his queen could 
not forget the prophecy of the weird sisters, that, though 
Macbeth should be king, yet not his children, but the chil- 
dren of Banquo should be kings after him. The thought 
of this, and that they had defiled their hands with blood, 
and done so great crimes, only to place the posterity of 
Banquo upon the throne, so rankled within them, that they 
determined to put to death both Banquo and his son, to 



Macbeth 129 

make void the predictions of the weird sisters, which in 
their own case had been so remarkably brought to pass. 

For this purpose they made a great supper, to which 
they invited all the chief thanes ; and, among the rest, 
with marks of particular respect, Banquo and his son 
Fleance were invited. The way by which Banquo was to 
pass to the palace at night was beset by murderers ap- 
pointed by Macbeth, who stabbed Banquo ; but in the 
scuffle Fleance escaped. From that Fleance descended 
a race of monarchs who afterwards filled the Scottish 
throne, ending with James the Sixth of Scotland and the 
First of England, under whom the two crowns of England 
and Scotland were united. 

At supper, the queen, whose manners were in the high- 
est degree affable and royal, played the hostess with a 
gracefulness and attention which conciliated every one 
present, and Macbeth discoursed freely with his thanes 
and nobles, saying, that all that was honorable in the 
country was under his roof, if he had but his good friend 
Banquo present, whom yet he hoped he should rather have 
to chide for neglect, than to lament for any mischance. 
Just at these words the ghost of Banquo, whom he had 
caused to be murdered, entered the room and placed him- 
self on the chair which Macbeth was about to occupy. 
Though Macbeth was a bold man, and one that could 
have faced the devil without trembling, at this horrible 
sight his cheeks turned white with fear, and he stood quite 
unmanned with his eyes fixed upon the ghost. His queen 
and all the nobles, who saw nothing, but perceived him 
gazing (as they thought) upon an empty chair, took it for 
a fit of distraction ; and she reproached him, whispering 
that it was but the same fancy which made him see the 
dagger in the air, when he was about to kill Duncan. But 
Macbeth continued to see the ghost, and gave no heed to 



130 Tales from Shakspeare 

all they could say, while he addressed it with distracted 
words, yet so significant, that his queen, fearing the dread- 
ful secret would be disclosed, in great haste dismissed the 
guests, excusing the infirmity of Macbeth as a disorder he 
was often troubled with. 

To such dreadful fancies Macbeth was subject. His 
queen and he had their sleeps afflicted with terrible 
dreams, and the blood of Banquo troubled them not more 
than the escape of Fleance, whom now they looked upon 
as father to a line of kings who should keep their posterity 
out of the throne. With these miserable thoughts they 
found no peace, and Macbeth determined once more to 
seek out the weird sisters, and know from them the worst. 

He sought them in a cave upon the heath, where they, 
who knew by foresight of his coming, were engaged in 
preparing their dreadful charms, by which they conjured 
up infernal spirits to reveal to them futurity. Their horrid 
ingredients were toads, bats, and serpents, the eye of a 
newt, and the tongue of a dog, the leg of a lizard, and the 
wing of the night-owl, the scale of a dragon, the tooth of a 
wolf, the maw of the ravenous salt-sea shark, the mummy 
of a witch, the root of the poisonous hemlock (this to have 
effect must be digged in the dark), the gall of a goat, and 
the liver of a Jew, with slips of the yew tree that roots 
itself in graves, and the finger of a dead child : all these 
were set on to boil in a great kettle, or caldron, which, as 
fast as it grew too hot, was cooled with a baboon's blood : 
to these they poured in the blood of a sow that had eaten 
her young, and they threw into the flame the grease that 
had sweaten from a murderer's gibbet. By these charms 
they bound the infernal spirits to answer their questions. 

It was demanded of Macbeth, whether he would have his 
doubts resolved by them, or by their masters, the spirits. 
He, nothing daunted by the dreadful ceremonies which he 



Macbeth 131 

saw, boldly answered, " Where are they ? let me see them." 
And they called the spirits, which were three. And the 
first arose in the likeness of an armed head, and he called 
Macbeth by name, and bid him beware of the thane of 
Fife ; for which caution Macbeth thanked him ; for Mac- 
beth had entertained a jealousy of Macduff, the thane of 
Fife. 

And the second spirit arose in the likeness of a bloody 
child, and he called Macbeth by name, and bid him have 
no fear, but laugh to scorn the power of man, for none of 
woman born should have power to hurt him ; and he ad- 
vised him to be bloody, bold, and resolute. " Then live, 
Macduff!" cried the king; " what need I fear of thee? 
but yet I will make assurance doubly sure. Thou shalt 
not live ; that I may tell pale-hearted Fear it lies, and 
sleep in spite of thunder." 

That spirit being dismissed, a third arose in the form of 
a child crowned, with a tree in his hand. He called Mac- 
beth by name, and comforted him against conspiracies, 
saying, that he should never be vanquished, until the wood 
of Birnam to Dunsinane Hill should come against him. 
"Sweet bodements ! good!" cried Macbeth; "who can 
unfix the forest, and move it from its earth-bound roots ? 
I see I shall live the usual period of man's life, and not be 
cut off by a violent death. But my heart throbs to know 
one thing. Tell me, if your art can tell so much, if Ban- 
quo's issue shall ever reign in this kingdom ? " Here the 
caldron sank into the ground, and a noise of music was 
heard, and eight shadows, like kings, passed by Macbeth, 
and Banquo last, who bore a glass which showed the fig- 
ures of many more, and Banquo all bloody smiled upon Mac- 
beth, and pointed to them ; by which Macbeth knew that 
these were the posterity of Banquo, who should reign after 
him in Scotland ; and the witches, with a sound of soft 



ij2 Tales from Shakspeare 

music, and with dancing, making a show of duty and 
welcome to Macbeth, vanished. And from this time the 
thoughts of Macbeth were all bloody and dreadful. 

The first thing he heard when he got out of the witches' 
cave, was that Macduff, thane of Fife, had fled to Eng- 
land, to join the army which was forming against him 
under Malcolm, the eldest son of the late king, with intent 
to displace Macbeth, and set Malcolm, the right heir, upon 
the throne. Macbeth, stung with rage, set upon the castle 
of Macduff, and put his wife and children, whom the thane 
had left behind, to the sword, and extended the slaughter 
to all who claimed the least relationship to Macduff. 

These and such-like deeds alienated the minds of all his 
chief nobility from him. Such as could, fled to join with 
Malcolm and Macduff, who were now approaching with a 
powerful army, which they had raised in England ; and 
the rest secretly wished success to their arms, though for 
fear of Macbeth they could take no active part. His 
recruits went on slowly. Everybody hated the tyrant ; 
nobody loved or honored him ; but all suspected him, and 
he began to envy the condition of Duncan, whom he had 
murdered, who slept soundly in his grave, against whom 
treason had done its worst : steel nor poison, domestic 
malice nor foreign levies, could hurt him any longer.. 

While these things were acting, the queen, who had 
been the sole partner in his wickedness, in whose bosom 
he could sometimes seek a momentary repose from those 
terrible dreams which afflicted them both nightly, died, it 
is supposed, by her own hands, unable to bear the remorse 
of guilt, and public hate ; by which event he was left alone, 
without a soul to love or care for him, or a friend to whom 
he could confide his wicked purposes. 

He grew careless of life, and wished for death ; but the 
near approach of Malcolm's army roused in him what 



Macbeth 133 

remained of his ancient courage, and he determined to die 
(as he expressed it), " with armor on his back." Besides 
this, the hollow promises of the witches had filled him with 
a false confidence, and he remembered the sayings of the 
spirits, that none of woman born was to hurt him, and that 
he was never to be vanquished till Birnam wood should 
come to Dunsinane, which he thought could never be. 
So he shut himself up in his castle, whose impregnable 
strength was such as defied a siege : here he sullenly- 
waited the approach of Malcolm. When, upon a day, 
there came a messenger to him, pale and shaking with 
fear, almost unable to report that which he had seen ; for 
he averred, that as he stood upon his watch on the hill, 
he looked towards Birnam, and to his thinking the wood 
began to move ! "Liar and slave!" cried Macbeth; "if 
thou speakest false, thou shalt hang alive upon the next 
tree, till famine end thee. If thy tale be true, I care not 
if thou dost as much by me : " for Macbeth now began to 
faint in resolution, and to doubt the equivocal speeches of 
the spirits. He was not to fear till Birnam wood should 
come to Dunsinane ; and now a wood did move ! " How- 
ever," said he, " if this which he avouches be true, let us 
arm and out. There is no flying hence, nor staying here. 
I begin to be weary of the sun, and wish my life at an end." 
With these desperate speeches he sallied forth upon the 
besiegers, who had now come up to the castle. 

The strange appearance, which had given the messen- 
ger an idea of a wood moving is easily solved. When the 
besieging army marched through the wood of Birnam, 
Malcolm, like a skilful general, instructed his soldiers to 
hew down every one a bough and bear it before him, by 
way of concealing the true numbers of his host. This 
marching of the soldiers with boughs had at a distance the 
appearance which had frightened the messenger. Thus 



134 Tales from Shakspeare 

were the words of the spirit brought to pass, in a sense 
different from that in which Macbeth had understood 
them, and one great hold of his confidence was gone. 

And now a severe skirmishing took place, in which Mac- 
beth, though feebly supported by those who called them- 
selves his friends, but in reality hated the tyrant and 
inclined to the party of Malcolm and Macduff, yet fought 
with the extreme of rage and valor, cutting to pieces all 
who were opposed to him, till he came to where Macduff 
was fighting. Seeing Macduff, and remembering the cau- 
tion of the spirit who had counselled him to avoid Macduff 
above all men, he would have turned, but Macduff, who 
had been seeking him through the whole fight, opposed 
his turning, and a fierce contest ensued ; Macduff giving 
him many foul reproaches for the murder of his wife and 
children. Macbeth, whose soul was charged enough with 
blood of that family already, would still have declined the 
combat ; but Macduff still urged him to it, calling him 
tyrant, murderer, hell-hound, and villain. 

Then Macbeth remembering the words of the spirit, 
how none of woman born should hurt him ; and smiling 
confidently he said to Macduff, " Thou losest thy labor, 
Macduff. As easily thou mayest impress the air with thy 
sword, as make me vulnerable. I bear a charmed life, 
which must not yield to one of woman born." 

" Despair thy charm," said Macduff, " and let that lying 
spirit whom thou hast served, tell thee, that Macduff was 
never born of woman, never as the ordinary manner of 
men is to be born, but came into the world out of due 
season." 

" Accursed be the tongue which tells me so," said the 
trembling Macbeth, who felt his last hold of confidence 
give way ; " and let never man in future believe the lying 
equivocations of witches and juggling spirits, who deceive 



Macbeth 



l 35 



us in words which have double senses, and while they keep 
their promise literally, disappoint our hopes with a differ- 
ent meaning. I will not fight with thee." 

"Then live ! " said the scornful Macduff; "we will have 
a show of thee, as men show monsters, and a painted board, 
on which shall be written, ' Here men may see the tyrant! ' " 

" Never," said Macbeth, whose courage returned with 
despair ; " I will not live to kiss the ground before young 
Malcolm's feet, and to be baited with the curses of the 
rabble. Though Birnam wood be come to Dunsinane, and 
thou opposed to me, who wast never born of woman, yet 
will I try the last." With these frantic words he threw 
himself upon Macduff, who, after a severe struggle, in the 
end overcame him, and cutting off his head, made a pres- 
ent of it to the young and lawful king, Malcolm; who took 
upon him the government which, by the machinations of 
the usurper, he had so long been deprived of, and ascended 
the throne of Duncan the Meek, amid the acclamations 
of the nobles and the people. 



KING LEAR 

Lear, king of Britain, had three daughters; Goneril, 
wife to the duke of Albany ; Regan, wife to the duke of 
Cornwall ; and Cordelia, a young maid, for whose love the 
king of France and duke of Burgundy were joint suitors, 
and were at this time making stay for that purpose in the 
court of Lear. 

The old king, worn out with age and the fatigues of 
government, he being more than fourscore years old, deter- 
mined to take no further part in state affairs, but to leave 
the management to younger strengths, that he might have 
time to prepare for death, which must at no long period 
ensue. With this intent he called his three daughters to 
him, to know from their own lips which of them loved 
him best, that he might part his kingdom among them in 
such proportions as their affection for him should seem to 
deserve. 

Goneril, the eldest, declared that she loved her father 
more than words could give out, that he was dearer to her 
than the light of her own eyes, dearer than life and liberty, 
with a deal of such professing stuff, which is easy to coun- 
terfeit where there is no real love, only a few fine words 
delivered with confidence being wanted in that case. The 
king, delighted to hear from her own mouth this assurance 
of her love, and thinking truly that her heart went with it, 
in a fit of fatherly fondness bestowed upon her and her 
husband one third of his ample kingdom. 

Then calling to him his second daughter, he demanded 
what she had to say. Regan, who was made of the same 
hollow metal as her sister, was not a whit behind in her 

136 




King Lear 



King Lear 139 

professions, but rather declared that what her sister had 
spoken came short of the love which she professed to bear 
for his highness ; insomuch that she found all other joys 
dead, in comparison with the pleasure which she took in 
the love of her dear king and father. 

Lear blessed himself in having such loving children, as 
he thought ; and could do no less, after the handsome 
assurances which Regan had made, than bestow a third 
of his kingdom upon her and her husband, equal in size to 
that which he had already given away to Goneril. 

Then turning to his youngest daughter Cordelia, whom 
he called his joy, he asked what she had to say, thinking 
no doubt that she would glad his ears with the same loving 
speeches which her sisters had uttered, or rather that her 
expressions would be so much stronger than theirs, as she 
had always been his darling, and favored by him above 
either of them. But Cordelia, disgusted with the flattery 
of her sisters, whose hearts she knew were far from their 
lips, and seeing that all their coaxing speeches were only 
intended to wheedle the old king out of his dominions, that 
they and their husbands might reign in his lifetime, made 
no other reply but this, — that she loved his majesty 
according to her duty, neither more nor less. 

The king, shocked with this appearance of ingratitude 
in his favorite child, desired her to consider her words, 
and to mend her speech, lest it should mar her fortunes. 

Cordelia then told her father, that he was her father, 
that he had given her breeding, and loved her ; that she 
returned those duties back as was most fit, and did obey 
him, love him, and most honor him. But that she could 
not frame her mouth to such large speeches as her sisters 
had done, or promise to love nothing else in the world. 
Why had her sisters husbands, if (as they said) they had 
no love for anything but their father? If she should ever 



140 Tales from Shakspeare 

wed, she was sure the lord to whom she gave her hand 
would want half her love, half of her care and duty ; she 
should never marry like her sisters, to love her father all. 

Cordelia, who in earnest loved her old father even 
almost as extravagantly as her sisters pretended to do, 
would have plainly told him so at any other time, in more 
daughter-like and loving terms, and without these qualifi- 
cations, which did indeed sound a little ungracious ; but 
after -the crafty flattering speeches of her sisters, which 
she had seen draw such extravagant rewards, she thought 
the handsomest thing she could do was to love and be 
silent. This put her affection out of suspicion of merce- 
nary ends, and showed that she loved, but not for gain ; and 
that her professions, the less ostentatious they were, had 
so much the more of truth and sincerity than her sisters'. 

This plainness of speech, which Lear called pride, so 
enraged the old monarch — who in his best of times 
always showed much of spleen and rashness, and in 
whom the dotage incident to old age had so clouded 
over his reason, that he could not discern truth from 
flattery, nor a gay painted speech from words that came 
from the heart — that in a fury of resentment he retracted 
the third part of his kingdom which yet remained, and 
which he had reserved for Cordelia, and gave it away 
from her, sharing it equally between her two sisters and 
their husbands, the dukes of Albany and Cornwall ; whom 
he now called to him, and in presence of all his courtiers 
bestowing a coronet between them, invested them jointly 
with all the power, revenue, and execution of government, 
only retaining to himself the name of king ; all the rest 
of royalty he resigned ; with this reservation, that him- 
self, with a hundred knights for his attendants, was to 
be maintained by monthly course in each of his daugh- 
ters' palaces in turn. 



King Lear 141 

So preposterous a disposal of his kingdom, so little 
guided by reason, and so much by passion, filled all his 
courtiers with astonishment and sorrow ; but none of 
them had the courage to interpose between this incensed 
king and his wrath, except the earl of Kent, who was 
beginning to speak a good word for Cordelia, when the 
passionate Lear on pain of death commanded him to 
desist ; but the good Kent was not so to be repelled. 
He had been ever loyal to Lear, whom he had honored 
as a king, loved as a father, followed as a master ; and 
he had never esteemed his life further than as a pawn 
to wage against his royal master's enemies, nor feared 
to lose it when Lear's safety was the motive ; nor now 
that Lear was most his own enemy, did this faithful 
servant of the king forget his old principles, but man- 
fully opposed Lear, to do Lear good ; and was unman- 
nerly only because Lear was mad. He had been a most 
faithful counsellor in times past to the king, and he 
besought him now, that he would see with his eyes (as 
he had done in many weighty matters), and go by his 
advice still ; and in his best consideration recall this 
hideous rashness ; for he would answer with his life, his 
judgment that Lear's youngest daughter did not love 
him least, nor were those empty-hearted whose low sound 
gave no token of hollowness. When power bowed to flat- 
tery, honor was bound to plainness. For Lear's threats, 
what could he do to him, whose life was already at his 
service ? That should not hinder duty from speaking. 

The honest freedom of this good earl of Kent only 
stirred up the king's wrath the more, and like a frantic 
patient who kills his physician, and loves his mortal dis- 
ease, he banished this true servant, and allotted him but 
five days to make his preparations for departure ; but if 
on the sixth his hated person was found within the realm 



142 Tales from Shakspeare 

of Britain, that moment was to be his death. And Kent 
bade farewell to the king, and said, that since he chose 
to show himself in such fashion, it was but banishment 
to stay there ; and before he went, he recommended Cor- 
delia to the protection of the gods, the maid who had so 
rightly thought, and so discreetly spoken ; and only wished 
that her sisters' large speeches might be answered with 
deeds of love ; and then he went, as he said, to shape 
his old course to a new country. 

The king of France and duke of Burgundy were now 
called in to hear the determination of Lear about his 
youngest daughter, and to know whether they would per- 
sist in their courtship to Cordelia, now that she was 
under her father's displeasure, and had no fortune but 
her own person to recommend her : and the duke of 
Burgundy declined the match, and would not take her 
to wife upon such conditions ; but the king of France, 
understanding what the nature of the fault had been 
which had lost her the love of her father, that it was 
only a tardiness of speech, and the not being able to 
frame her tongue to flattery like her sisters, took this 
young maid by the hand, and saying that her virtues 
were a dowry above a kingdom, bade Cordelia to take 
farewell of her sisters and of her father, though he had 
been unkind, and she should go with him, and be queen 
of him and of fair France, and reign over fairer posses- 
sions than her sisters : and he called the duke of Bur- 
gundy in contempt a waterish duke, because his love 
for this young maid had in a moment run all away like 
water. 

Then Cordelia with weeping eyes took leave of her 
sisters, and besought them to love their father well, and 
make good their professions : and they sullenly told her 
not to prescribe to them, for they knew their duty; but 



King Lear 143 

to strive to content her husband, who had taken her (as 
they tauntingly expressed it) as Fortune's alms. And 
Cordelia with a heavy heart departed, for she knew the 
cunning of her sisters, and she wished her father in 
better hands than she was about to leave him in. 

Cordelia was no sooner gone, than the devilish dispo- 
sitions of her sisters began to show themselves in their 
true colors. Even before the expiration of the first 
month, which Lear was to spend by agreement with his 
eldest daughter Goneril, the old king began to find out 
the difference between promises and performances. This 
wretch having got from her father all that he had to 
bestow, even to the giving away of the crown from off 
his head, began to grudge even those small remnants 
of royalty which the old man had reserved to himself, 
to please his fancy with the idea of being still a king. 
She could not bear to see him and his hundred knights. 
Every time she met her father, she put on a frowning 
countenance ; and when the old man wanted to speak 
with her, she would feign sickness, or anything to be rid 
of the sight of him ; for it was plain that she esteemed 
his old age a useless burden, and his attendants an 
unnecessary expense : not only she herself slackened in 
her expressions of duty to the king, but by her example, 
and (it is to be feared) not without her private instruc- 
tions, her very servants affected to treat him with neglect, 
and would either refuse to obey his orders, or still more 
contemptuously pretend not to hear them. Lear could 
not but perceive this alteration in the behavior of his 
daughter, but he shut his eyes against it as long as he 
could, as people commonly are unwilling to believe the 
unpleasant consequences which their own mistakes and 
obstinacy have brought upon them. 

True love and fidelity are no more to be estranged by ill, 



144 Tales from Shakspeare 

than falsehood and hollow-heartedness can be conciliated 
by good, usage. This eminently appears in the instance of 
the good earl of Kent, who, though banished by Lear, and 
his life made forfeit if he were found in Britain, chose to 
stay and abide all consequences, as long as there was a 
chance of his being useful to the king his master. See 
to what mean shifts and disguises poor loyalty is forced to 
submit sometimes ; yet it counts nothing base or unworthy, 
so as it can but do service where it owes an obligation ! In 
the disguise of a serving man, all his greatness and pomp 
laid aside, this good earl proffered his services to the king, 
who, not knowing him to be Kent in that disguise, but 
pleased with a certain plainness, or rather bluntness in his 
answers, which the earl put on (so different from that 
smooth oily flattery which he had so much reason to be 
sick of, having found the effects not answerable in his 
daughter), a bargain was quickly struck, and Lear took 
Kent into his service by the name of Caius, as he called 
himself, never suspecting him to be his once great favorite, 
the high and mighty earl of Kent. 

This Caius quickly found means to show his fidelity and 
love to his royal master ; for Goneril's steward that same 
day behaving in a disrespectful manner to Lear, and giving 
him saucy looks and language, as no doubt he was secretly 
encouraged to do by his mistress, Caius, not enduring to 
hear so open an affront put upon his majesty, made no 
more ado but presently tripped up his heels, and laid the 
unmannerly slave in the kennel ; for which friendly service 
Lear became more and more attached to him. 

Nor was Kent the only friend Lear had. In his degree, 
and as far as so insignificant a personage could show his 
love, the poor fool, or jester, that had been of his palace 
while Lear had a palace, as it was the custom of kings and 
great personages at that time to keep a fool (as he was 



King Lear 145 

called) to make them sport after serious business : this 
poor fool clung to Lear after he had given away his crown, 
and by his witty sayings would keep up his good humor, 
though he could not refrain sometimes from jeering at his 
master for his imprudence in uncrowning himself, and giv- 
ing all away to his daughters ; at which time, as he rhym- 
ingly expressed it, these daughters 

For sudden joy did weep 

And he for sorrow sung, 
That such a king should play bo-peep, 

And go the fools among. 

And in such wild sayings, and scraps of songs, of which 
he had plenty, this pleasant honest fool poured out his 
heart even in the presence of Goneril herself, in many a 
bitter taunt and jest which cut to the quick : such as com- 
paring the king to the hedge-sparrow, who feeds the young 
of the cuckoo till they grow old enough, and then has its 
head bit off for its pains ; and saying, that an ass may 
know when the cart draws the horse (meaning that Lear's 
daughters, that ought to go behind, now ranked before 
their father) ; and that Lear was no longer Lear, but the 
shadow of Lear : for which free speeches he was once or 
twice threatened to be whipped. 

The coolness and falling off of respect which Lear had 
begun to perceive, were not all which this foolish fond 
father was to suffer from his unworthy daughter : she now 
plainly told him that his staying in her palace was incon- 
venient so long as he insisted upon keeping up an establish- 
ment of a hundred knights ; that this establishment was 
useless and expensive, and only served to fill her court 
with riot and feasting ; and she prayed him that he would 
lessen their number, and keep none but old men about him, 
such as himself, and fitting his age. 



146 Tales from Shakspeare 

Lear at first could not believe his eyes or ears, nor that 
it was his daughter who spoke so unkindly. He could not 
believe that she who had received a crown from him could 
seek to cut off his train, and grudge him the respect due 
to his old age. But she persisting in her undutif ul demand, 
the old man's rage was so excited, that he called her a 
detested kite, and said that she spoke an untruth ; and so 
indeed she did, for the hundred knights were all men of 
choice behavior and sobriety of manners, skilled in all 
particulars of duty, and not given to rioting or feasting, as 
she said. And he bid his horses to be prepared, for he 
would go to his other daughter, Regan, he and his hundred 
knights ; and he spoke of ingratitude, and said it was a 
marble-hearted devil, and showed more hideous in a child 
than the sea-monster. And he cursed his eldest daughter 
Goneril so as was terrible to hear ; praying that she might 
never have a child, or if she had, that it might live to return 
that scorn and contempt upon her which she had shown to 
him : that she might feel how sharper than a serpent's 
tooth it was to have a thankless child. And Goneril's hus- 
band, the duke of Albany, beginning to excuse himself for 
any share which Lear might suppose he had in the unkind- 
ness, Lear would not hear him out, but in a rage ordered 
his horses to be saddled, and set out with his followers for 
the abode of Regan, his other daughter. And Lear thought 
to himself how small the fault of Cordelia (if it was a fault) 
now appeared, in comparison with her sister's, and he wept ; 
and then he was ashamed that such a creature as Goneril 
should have so much power over his manhood as to make 
him weep. 

Regan and her husband were keeping their court in great 
pomp and state at their palace ; and Lear despatched his 
servant Caius with letters to his daughter, that she might 
be prepared for his reception, while he and his train fol- 



King Lear 147 

lowed after. But it seems that Goneril had been before- 
hand with him, sending letters also to Regan, accusing her 
father of waywardness and ill humors, and advising her 
not to receive so great a train as he was bringing with him. 
This messenger arrived at the same time with Caius, and 
Caius and he met : and who should it be but Caius' old 
enemy the steward, whom he had formerly tripped up by 
the heels for his saucy behavior to Lear. Caius not liking 
the fellow's look, and suspecting what he came for, began 
to revile him, and challenged him to fight, which the fellow 
refusing, Caius, in a fit of honest passion, beat him soundly, 
as such a mischief-maker and carrier of wicked messages 
deserved ; which coming to the ears of Regan and her 
husband, they ordered Caius to be put in the stocks, though 
he was a messenger from the king her father, and in that 
character demanded the highest respect : so that the first 
thing the king saw when he entered the castle, was his 
faithful servant Caius sitting in that disgraceful situation. 

This was but a bad omen of the reception which he was 
to expect ; but a worse followed, when, upon inquiry for 
his daughter and her husband, he was told they were 
weary with travelling all night, and could not see him ; 
and when lastly, upon his insisting in a positive and angry 
manner to see them, they came to greet him, whom should 
he see in their company but the hated Goneril, who had 
come to tell her own story, and set her sister against the 
king her father ! 

This sight much moved the old man, and still more to 
see Regan take her by the hand ; and he asked Goneril 
if she was not ashamed to look upon his old white beard. 
And Regan advised him to go home again with Goneril, 
and live with her peaceably, dismissing half of his attend- 
ants, and to ask her forgiveness ; for he was old and wanted 
discretion, and must be ruled and led by persons that had 



148 Tales from Shakspeare 

more discretion than himself. And Lear showed how pre- 
posterous that would sound, if he were to go down on his 
knees, and beg of his own daughter for food and raiment, 
and he argued against such an unnatural dependence, de- 
claring his resolution never to return with her, but to stay 
where he was with Regan, he and his hundred knights ; 
for he said that she had not forgot the half of the kingdom 
which he had endowed her with, and that her eyes were 
not fierce like Goneril's, but mild and kind. And he said 
that rather than return to Goneril, with half his train cut 
off, he would go over to France, and beg a wretched pen- 
sion of the king there, who had married his youngest 
daughter without a portion. 

But he was mistaken in expecting kinder treatment of 
Regan than he had experienced from her sister Goneril. 
As if willing to outdo her sister in unfilial behavior, she 
declared that she thought fifty knights too many to wait 
upon him : that five-and-twenty were enough. Then Lear, 
nigh heartbroken, turned to Goneril, and said that he would 
go back with her, for her fifty doubled five-and-twenty, and 
so her love was twice as much as Regan's. But Goneril 
excused herself, and said, what need of so many as five- 
and-twenty ? or even ten ? or five ? when he might be waited 
upon by her servants, or her sister's servants? So these 
two wicked daughters, as if they strove to exceed each 
other in cruelty to their old father, who had been so good 
to them, by little and little would have abated him of all 
his train, all respect (little enough for him that once com- 
manded a kingdom), which was left him to show that he 
had once been a king ! Not that a splendid train is essen- 
tial to happiness, but from a king to a beggar is a hard 
change, from commanding millions to be without one at- 
tendant ; and it was the ingratitude in his daughters' deny- 
ing it, more than what he would suffer by the want of it, 



King Lear 149 

which pierced this poor king to the heart ; insomuch, that 
with this double ill-usage, and vexation for having so fool- 
ishly given away a kingdom, his wits began to be unsettled, 
and while he said he knew not what, he vowed revenge 
against those unnatural hags, and to make examples of 
them that should be a terror to the earth ! 

While he was thus idly threatening what his weak arm 
could never execute, night came on, and a loud storm of 
thunder and lightning with rain ; and his daughters still 
persisting in their resolution not to admit his followers, he 
called for his horses, and chose rather to encounter the 
utmost fury of the storm abroad, than stay under the same 
roof with these ungrateful daughters : and they, saying 
that the injuries which wilful men procure to themselves 
are their just punishment, suffered him to go in that con- 
dition and shut their doors upon him. 

The winds were high, and the rain and storm increased, 
when the old man sallied forth to combat with the ele- 
ments, less sharp than his daughters' unkindness. For 
many miles about there was scarce a bush ; and there upon 
a heath, exposed to the fury of the storm in a dark night, 
did king Lear wander out, and defy the winds and the 
thunder ; and he bid the winds to blow the earth into the 
sea, or swell the waves of the sea till they drowned the 
earth, that no token might remain of any such ungrateful 
animal as man. The old king was now left with no other 
companion than the poor fool, who still abided with him, 
with his merry conceits striving to outjest misfortune, say- 
ing it was but a naughty night to swim in, and truly the 
king had better go in and ask his daughter's blessing : — 

But he that has a little tiny wit, 

With heigh ho, the wind and the rain ! 

Must make content with his fortunes fit, 
Though the rain it raineth every day : 



150 Tales from Shakspeare 

and swearing it was a brave night to cool a lady's 
pride. 

Thus poorly accompanied, this once great monarch was 
found by his ever faithful servant the good earl of Kent, 
now transformed to Caius, who ever followed close at his 
side, though the king did not know him to be the earl ; 
and he said, " Alas ! sir, are you here ? creatures that love 
night, love not such nights as these. This dreadful storm 
has driven the beasts to their hiding places. Man's nature 
cannot endure the affliction or the fear." And Lear re- 
buked him and said, these lesser evils were not felt, where 
a greater malady was fixed. When the mind is at ease, 
the body has leisure to be delicate ; but the tempest in his 
mind did take all feeling else from his senses, but of that 
which beat at his heart. And he spoke of filial ingratitude, 
and said it was all one as if the mouth should tear the hand 
for lifting food to it ; for parents were hands and food and 
everything to children. 

But the good Caius still persisting in his entreaties that 
the king would not stay out in the open air, at last per- 
suaded him to enter a little wretched hovel which stood 
upon the heath, where the fool first entering, suddenly ran 
back terrified, saying that he had seen a spirit. But upon 
examination this spirit proved to be nothing more than 
a poor Bedlam beggar, who had crept into this deserted 
hovel for shelter, and with his talk about devils frighted 
the fool ; one of those poor lunatics who are either mad, or 
feign to be so, the better to extort charity from the com- 
passionate country people, who go about the country, call- 
ing themselves poor Tom and poor Turlygood, saying, 
"Who gives anything to poor Tom?" sticking pins and 
nails and sprigs of rosemary into their arms to make them 
bleed ; and with such horrible actions, partly by prayers, 
and partly with lunatic curses, they move or terrify the 



King Lear 151 

ignorant country-folks into giving them alms. This poor 
fellow was such a one ; and the king seeing him in so 
wretched a plight, with nothing but a blanket about his 
loins to cover his nakedness, could not be persuaded but 
that the fellow was some father who had given all away 
to his daughters, and brought himself to that pass : for 
nothing, he thought, could bring a man to such wretched- 
ness but the having unkind daughters. 

And from this and many such wild speeches which he 
uttered, the good Caius plainly perceived that he was not 
in his perfect mind, but that his daughters' ill usage had 
really made him go mad. And now the loyalty of this 
worthy earl of Kent showed itself in more essential ser- 
vices than he had hitherto found opportunity to perform. 
For with the assistance of some of the king's attendants 
who remained loyal, he had the person of his royal master 
removed at day-break to the castle of Dover, where his 
own friends and influence, as earl of Kent, chiefly lay ; 
and himself embarking for France, hastened to the court 
of Cordelia, and did there in such moving terms represent 
the pitiful condition of her royal father, and set out in such 
lively colors the inhumanity of her sisters, that this good 
and loving child with many tears besought the king her 
husband that he would give her leave to embark for Eng- 
land, with a sufficient power to subdue these cruel daugh- 
ters and their husbands, and restore the old king her father 
to his throne ; which, being granted, she set forth, and with 
a royal army landed at Dover. 

Lear having by some chance escaped from the guar- 
dians which the good earl of Kent had put over him to 
take care of him in his lunacy, was found by some of 
Cordelia's train, wandering about the fields near Dover, 
in a pitiable condition, stark mad, and singing, aloud to 
himself, with a crown upon his head which he had made 



152 Tales from Shakspeare 

of straw, and nettles, and other wild weeds that he had 
picked up in the corn-fields. By the advice of the 
physicians, Cordelia, though earnestly desirous of seeing 
her father, was prevailed upon to put off the meeting, 
till by sleep and the operation of herbs which they 
gave him, he should be restored to greater composure. 
By the aid of these skilful physicians, to whom Cor- 
delia promised all her gold and jewels for the recovery 
of the old king, Lear was soon in a condition to see his 
daughter. 

A tender sight it was to see the meeting between this 
father and daughter ; to see the struggles between the joy 
of this poor old king at beholding again his once darling 
child, and the shame at receiving such filial kindness from 
her whom he had cast off for so small a fault in his dis- 
pleasure ; both these passions struggling with the remains 
of his malady, which in his half-crazed brain sometimes 
made him that he scarce remembered where he was, or 
who it was that so kindly kissed him and spoke to him : 
and then he would beg the standers-by not to laugh at 
him, if he were mistaken in thinking this lady to be his 
daughter Cordelia ! And then to see him fall on his 
knees to beg pardon of his child ; and she, good lady, 
kneeling all the while to ask a blessing of him, and telling 
him that it did not become him to kneel, but it was her 
duty, for she was his child, his true and very child Cor- 
delia ! and she kissed him (as she said) to kiss away all 
her sisters' unkindness, and said that they might be 
ashamed of themselves, to turn their old kind father with 
his white beard out into the cold air, when her enemy's 
dog, though it had bit her (as she prettily expressed it), 
should have stayed by her fire such a night as that, and 
warmed himself. And she told her father how she had 
come from France with purpose to bring him assistance ; 



King- Lear 



*53 



and he said that she must forget and forgive, for he was 
old and foolish, and did not know what he did ; but that 
to be sure she had great cause not to love him, but her 
sisters had none. And Cordelia said that she had no 
cause, no more than they had. 

So we will leave this old king in the protection of this 
dutiful and loving child, where, by the help of sleep and 
medicine, she and her physicians at length succeeded in 
winding up the untuned and jarring senses which the 
cruelty of his other daughters had so violently shaken. 
Let us return to say a word or two about those cruel 
daughters. 

These monsters of ingratitude, who had been so false to 
their old father, could not be expected to prove more faith- 
ful to their own husbands. They soon grew tired of pay- 
ing even the appearance of duty and affection, and in an 
open way showed they had fixed their loves upon another. 
It happened that the object of their guilty loves was the 
same. It was Edmund, a natural son of the late earl of 
Gloucester, who by his treacheries had succeeded in disin- 
heriting his brother Edgar, the lawful heir, from his earl- 
dom, and by his wicked practices was now earl himself ; a 
wicked man, and a fit object for the love of such wicked 
creatures as Goneril and Regan. It falling out about this 
time that the duke of Cornwall, Regan's husband, died, 
Regan immediately declared her intention of wedding this 
earl of Gloucester, which rousing the jealousy of her sister, 
to whom as well as to Regan this wicked earl had at sun- 
dry times professed love, Goneril found means to make 
away with her sister by poison ; but being detected in her 
practices, and imprisoned by her husband, the duke of 
Albany, for this deed, and for her guilty passion for the 
earl which had come to his ears, she, in a fit of disap- 
pointed love and rage, shortly put an end to her own life. 



154 Tales from Shakspeare 

Thus the justice of Heaven at last overtook these wicked 
daughters. 

While the eyes of all men were upon this event, admir- 
ing the justice displayed in their deserved deaths, the same 
eyes were suddenly taken off from this sight to admire 
at the mysterious ways of the same power in the melan- 
choly fate of the young and virtuous daughter, the lady 
Cordelia, whose good deeds did seem to deserve a more 
fortunate conclusion: but it is an awful truth, that inno- 
cence and piety are not always successful in this world. 
The forces which Goneril and Regan had sent out under 
the command of the bad earl of Gloucester were victorious, 
and Cordelia, by the practices of this wicked earl, who did 
not like that any should stand between him and the throne, 
ended her life in prison. Thus, Heaven took this inno- 
cent lady to itself in her young years, after showing her to 
the world an illustrious example of filial duty. Lear did 
not long survive this kind child. 

Before he died, the good earl of Kent, who had still 
attended his old master's steps from the first of his daugh- 
ters' ill usage to this sad period of his decay, tried to make 
him understand that it was he who had followed him under 
the name of Caius ; but Lear's care-crazed brain at that time 
could not comprehend how that could be, or how Kent and 
Caius could be the same person : so Kent thought it need- 
less to trouble him with explanations at such a time ; and 
Lear soon after expiring, this faithful servant to the king, 
between age and grief for his old master's vexations, soon 
followed him to the grave. 

How the judgment of Heaven overtook the bad earl of 
Gloucester, whose treasons were discovered, and himself 
slain in single combat with his brother, the lawful earl ; 
and how Goneril' s husband, the duke of Albany, who was 
innocent of the death of Cordelia, and had never encour- 



King Lear 155 

aged his lady in her wicked proceedings against her 
father, ascended the throne of Britain after the death of 
Lear, is needless here to narrate; Lear and his Three 
Daughters being dead, whose adventures alone concern 
our story. 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

Shylock, the Jew, lived at Venice : he was an usurer, ; . 
who had amassed an immense fortune by lending money 
at great interest to Christian merchants. Shylock, being 
a hard-hearted man, exacted the payment of the money he 
lent with such severity that he was much disliked by all 
good men, and particularly by Antonio, a young merchant 
of Venice ; and Shylock as much hated Antonio, because 
he used to lend money to people in distress, and would 
never take any interest for the money he lent ; therefore 
there was great enmity between this covetous Jew and the 
generous merchant Antonio. Whenever Antonio met Shy- 
lock on the Rialto (or Exchange), he used to reproach him 
with his usuries and hard dealings, which the Jew would 
bear with seeming patience, while he secretly meditated 
revenge. 

Antonio was the kindest man that lived, the best condi- 
tioned, and had the most unwearied spirit in doing cour- 
tesies : indeed, he was one in whom the ancient Roman 
honor more appeared than in any that drew breath in 
Italy. He was greatly beloved by all his fellow-citizens ; 
but the friend who was nearest and dearest to his heart 
was Bassanio, a noble Venetian, who, having but a small 
patrimony, had nearly exhausted this little fortune by liv- 
ing in too expensive a manner for his slender means, as 
young men of high rank with small fortunes are too apt 
to do. Whenever Bassanio wanted money, Antonio assisted 
him ; and it seemed as if they had but one heart and one 
purse between them. 

156 



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The Merchant of Venice 



The Merchant of Venice 150 

One day Bassanio came to Antonio, and told him that 
he wished to repair his fortune by a wealthy marriage with 
a lady whom he dearly loved, whose father, that was lately 
dead, had left her sole heiress to a large estate ; and that 
in her father's life-time he used to visit at her house, when 
he thought he had observed this lady had sometimes from 
her eyes sent speechless messages, that seemed to say he 
would be no unwelcome suitor ; but not having money to 
furnish himself with an appearance befitting the lover of 
so rich an heiress, he besought Antonio to add to the 
many favors he had shown him, by lending him three 
thousand ducats. 

Antonio had no money by him at that time to lend his 
friend ; but expecting soon to have some ships come home 
laden with merchandise, he said he would go to Shylock, 
the rich money-lender, and borrow the money upon the 
credit of those ships. 

Antonio and Bassanio went together to Shylock, and 
Antonio asked the Jew to lend him three thousand ducats 
upon any interest he should require, to be paid out of the 
merchandise contained in his ships at sea. On this, Shy- 
lock thought within himself, " If I can once catch him on 
the hip, I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him ; he 
hates our Jewish nation ; he lends out money gratis, and 
among the merchants he rails at me and my well-earned 
bargains, which he calls interest. Cursed be my tribe if I 
forgive him ! " Antonio finding he was musing within 
himself and did not answer, and being impatient for the 
money, said, " Shylock, do you hear ? will you lend the 
money ? " To this question the Jew replied, " Signior An- 
tonio, on the Rialto many a time and often you have railed 
at me about my monies and my usuries, and I have borne 
it with a patient shrug, for sufferance is the badge of all 
our tribe ; and then you have called me unbeliever, cut- 



160 Tales from Shakspeare 

throat dog, and spit upon my Jewish garments, and spurned 
at me with your foot, as if I was a cur. Well then, it now 
appears you need my help ; and you come to me, and say, 
Shylock, lend me monies. Has a dog money ? Is it pos- 
sible a cur should lend three thousand ducats ? Shall I 
bend low and say, Fair sir, you spit upon me on Wednes- 
day last, another time you called me dog, and for these 
courtesies I am to lend you monies?" Antonio replied, 
" I am as like to call you so again, to spit on you again, 
and spurn you too. If you will lend me this money, lend it 
not to me as to a friend, but rather lend it to me as to an 
enemy, that, if I break, you may with better face exact the 
penalty." — "Why, look you," said Shylock, "how you storm ! 
I would be friends with you, and have your love. I will 
forget the shames you have put upon me. I will supply 
your wants, and take no interest for my money." This seem- 
ingly kind offer greatly surprised Antonio ; and then Shy- 
lock, still pretending kindness, and that all he did was to 
gain Antonio's love, again said he would lend him the three 
thousand ducats, and take no interest for his money ; only 
Antonio should go with him to a lawyer, and there sign in 
merry sport a bond, that if he did not repay the money by 
a certain day, he would forfeit a pound of flesh, to be cut 
off from any part of his body that Shylock pleased. 

" Content," said Antonio : " I will sign to this bond, and 
say there is much kindness in the Jew." 

Bassanio said Antonio should not sign to such a bond for 
him ; but still Antonio insisted that he would sign it, for 
that before the day of payment came, his ships would return 
laden with many times the value of the money. 

Shylock, hearing this debate, exclaimed, " O, father 
Abraham, what suspicious people these Christians are ! 
Their own hard dealings teach them to suspect the thoughts 
of others. I pray you tell me this, Bassanio : if he should 



The Merchant of Venice 1 6 1 

break his day, what should I gain by the exaction of the 
forfeiture? A pound of man's flesh, taken from a man, is 
not so estimable, nor profitable neither, as the flesh of mut- 
ton or beef. I say, to buy his favor I offer this friendship : 
if he will take it, so ; if not, adieu." 

At last, against the advice of Bassanio, who, notwith- 
standing all the Jew had said of his kind intentions, did not 
like his friend should run the hazard of this shocking pen- 
alty for his sake, Antonio signed the bond, thinking it 
really was (as the Jew said) merely in sport. 

The rich heiress that Bassanio wished to marry lived 
near Venice, at a place called Belmont: her name was 
Portia, and in the graces of her person and her mind she 
was nothing inferior to that Portia, of whom we read, who 
was Cato's daughter, and the wife of Brutus. 

Bassanio being so kindly supplied with money by his 
friend Antonio, at the hazard of his life, set out for Belmont 
with a splendid train, and attended by a gentleman of the 
name of Gratiano. 

Bassanio proving successful in his suit, Portia in a short 
time consented to accept of him for a husband. 

Bassanio confessed to Portia that he had no fortune, and 
that his high birth and noble ancestry was all that he could 
boast of ; she, who loved him for his worthy qualities, and 
had riches enough not to regard wealth in a husband, an- 
swered with a graceful modesty, that she would wish her- 
self a thousand times more fair, and ten thousand times 
more rich, to be more worthy of him ; and then the accom- 
plished Portia prettily dispraised herself, and said she was 
an unlessoned girl, unschooled, unpractised, yet not so old 
but that she could learn, and that she would commit her 
gentle spirit to be directed and governed by him in all 
things ; and she said, " Myself and what is mine, to you 
and yours is now converted. But yesterday, Bassanio, I 



1 62 Tales from Shakspeare 

was the lady of this fair mansion, queen of myself, and 
mistress over these servants ; and now this house, these 
servants, and myself, are yours, my lord ; I give them with 
this ring; " presenting a ring to Bassanio. 

Bassanio was so overpowered with gratitude and wonder 
at the gracious manner in which the rich and noble Portia 
accepted of a man of his humble fortunes, that he could 
not express his joy and reverence to the dear lady who so 
honored him, by anything but broken words of love and 
thankfulness ; and taking the ring, he vowed never to part 
with it. 

Gratiano and Nerissa, Portia's waiting-maid, were in at- 
tendance upon their lord and lady, when Portia so grace- 
fully promised to become the obedient wife of Bassanio ; 
and Gratiano, wishing Bassanio and the generous lady joy, 
desired permission to be married at the same time. 

"With all my heart, Gratiano," said Bassanio, "if you 
can get a wife." 

Gratiano then said that he loved the lady Portia's fair 
waiting gentlewoman Nerissa, and that she had promised 
to be his wife if her lady married Bassanio. Portia asked 
Nerissa if this was true. Nerissa replied, " Madam, it is 
so, if you approve of it." Portia willingly consenting, 
Bassanio pleasantly said, " Then our wedding-feast shall 
be much honored by your marriage, Gratiano." 

The happiness of these lovers was sadly crossed at this 
moment by the entrance of a messenger, who brought a 
letter from Antonio containing fearful tidings. When 
Bassanio read Antonio's letter, Portia feared it was to tell 
him of the death of some dear friend, he looked so pale ; 
and inquiring what was the news which had so distressed 
him, he said, " O sweet Portia, here are a few of the 
unpleasantest words that ever blotted paper : gentle lady, 
when I first imparted my love to you, I freely told you all 



The Merchant of Venice 163 

the wealth I had ran in my veins;!' bin:. I should have told 
that I had less than nothing, being in debt." Bassariio 
then told Portia what has been here related, of his borrow- 
ing the money of Antonio, and of Antonio's procuring it 
of Shylock the Jew, and of the bond by which Antonio 
had engaged to forfeit a pound of flesh, if it was not repaid 
by a certain day: and then Bassanio read Antonio's letter; 
the words of which were, " Sweet Bassanio, my ships are 
all lost, my bond to the Jew is forfeited, and since in paying 
it is impossible I should live, I could wish to see yon at my 
deatJi ; notwithstanding, use your pleasure ; if your love 
for me do not persuade you to come, let 710 1 my letter." "O, 
my dear love," said Portia, " despatch all business, and 
begone ; you shall have gold to pay the money twenty 
times over, before this kind friend shall lose a hair by my 
Bassanio's fault ; and as you are so dearly bought, I will 
dearly love you." Portia then said she would be married 
to Bassanio before he set out, to give him a legal right to 
her money, and that same day they were married, and 
Gratiano was also married to Nerissa ; and Bassanio and 
Gratiano, the instant they were married, set out in great 
haste for Venice, where Bassanio found Antonio in prison. 

The day of payment being past, the cruel Jew would 
not accept of the money which Bassanio offered him, but 
insisted upon having a pound of Antonio's flesh. A day 
was appointed to try this shocking cause before the duke 
of Venice, and Bassanio awaited in dreadful suspense the 
event of the trial. 

When Portia parted with her husband, she spoke cheer- 
ingly to him, and bade him bring his dear friend along 
with him when he returned ; yet she feared it would go 
hard with Antonio, and when she was left alone, she began 
to think and consider within herself, if she could by any 
means be instrumental in saving the life of her dear 



164 Tales from Shakspeare 

Bassanio's friend ; and notwithstanding when she wished 
to honor her Bassanio, she had said to him with such a 
meek and wife-like grace, that she would submit in all 
things to be governed by his superior wisdom, yet being 
now called forth into action by the peril of her honored 
husband's friend, she did nothing doubt her own powers, 
and by the sole guidance of her own true and perfect 
judgment, at once resolved to go herself to Venice, and 
speak in Antonio's defence. 

Portia had a relation who was a counsellor in the law ; 
to this gentleman, whose name was Bellario, she wrote, 
and stating the case to him, desired his opinion, and that 
with his advice he would also send her the dress worn by 
a counsellor. When the messenger returned, he brought 
letters from Bellario of advice how to proceed, and also 
everything necessary for her equipment. 

Portia dressed herself and her maid Nerissa in men's 
apparel, and putting on the robes of a counsellor, she 
took Nerissa along with her as her clerk ; and setting 
out immediately, they arrived at Venice on the very day 
of the trial. The cause was just going to be heard before 
the duke and senators of Venice in the senate-house, when 
Portia entered this high court of justice, and presented a 
letter from Bellario, in which that learned counsellor wrote 
to the duke, saying, he would have come himself to plead 
for Antonio, but that he was prevented by sickness, and 
he requested that the learned young doctor Balthasar (so 
he called Portia) might be permitted to plead in his stead. 
This the duke granted, much wondering at the youthful 
appearance of the stranger, who was prettily disguised by 
her counsellor's robes and her large wig. 

And now began this important trial. Portia looked 
around her, and she saw the merciless Jew ; and she saw 
Bassanio, but he knew her not in her disguise. He was 



The Merchant of Venice 165 

standing beside Antonio, in an agony of distress and fear 
for his friend. 

The importance of the arduous task Portia had engaged 
in gave this tender lady courage, and she boldly proceeded 
in the duty she had undertaken to perform : and first of 
all she addressed herself to Shylock ; and allowing that he 
had a right by the Venetian law to have the forfeit ex- 
pressed in the bond, she spoke so sweetly of the noble 
quality of mercy, as would have softened any heart but the 
unfeeling Shylock's ; saying, that it dropped as the gentle 
rain from heaven upon the place beneath ; and how mercy 
was a double blessing : it blessed him that gave, and him 
that received it ; and how it became monarchs better than 
their crowns, being an attribute of God himself ; and that 
earthly power came nearest to God's, in proportion as 
mercy tempered justice ; and she bid Shylock remember 
that as we all pray for mercy, that same prayer should 
teach us to show mercy. Shylock only answered her by 
desiring to have the penalty forfeited in the bond. " Is 
he not able to pay the money?" asked Portia. Bassanio 
then offered the Jew the payment of the three thousand 
ducats as many times over as he should desire ; which 
Shylock refusing, and still insisting upon having a pound 
of Antonio's flesh, Bassanio begged the learned young 
counsellor would endeavor to wrest the law a little, to 
save Antonio's life. But Portia gravely answered, that 
laws once established must never be altered. Shylock 
hearing Portia say that the law might not be altered, it 
seemed to him that she was pleading in his favor, and he 
said, "A Daniel is come to judgment! O wise young 
judge, how I do honor you ! How much elder are you 
than your looks ? " 

Portia now desired Shylock to let her look at the bond ; 
and when she had read it, she said, " This bond is forfeited, 



1 66 Tales from Shakspeare 

and by this the Jew may lawfully claim a pound of flesh, 
to be by him cut off nearest Antonio's heart." Then she 
said to Shylock, " Be merciful : take the money, and 
bid me tear the bond." But no mercy would the cruel 
Shylock show ; and he said, " By my soul I swear, there 
is no power in the tongue of man to alter me." — "Why 
then, Antonio," said Portia, " you must prepare your bosom 
for the knife : " and while Shylock was sharpening a long 
knife with great eagerness to cut off the pound of flesh, 
Portia said to Antonio, " Have you anything to say ? " 
Antonio with a calm resignation replied, that he had but 
little to say, for that he had prepared his mind for death. 
Then he said to Bassanio, " Give me your hand, Bassanio ! 
Fare you well ! Grieve not that I am fallen into this 
misfortune for you. Commend me to your honorable 
wife, and tell her how I have loved you ! " Bassanio in 
the deepest affliction replied, " Antonio, I am married to 
a wife, who is as dear to me as life itself ; but life itself, my 
wife, and all the world, are not esteemed with me above your 
life : I would lose all, I would sacrifice all to this devil here, 
to deliver you." 

Portia hearing this, though the kind-hearted lady was 
not at all offended with her husband for expressing the 
love he owed to so true a friend as Antonio in these strong 
terms, yet could not help answering, " Your wife would 
give you little thanks, if she were present, to hear you 
make this offer." And then Gratiano, who loved to copy 
what his lord did, thought he must make a speech like 
Bassanio's, and he said, in Nerissa's hearing, who was 
writing in her clerk's dress by the side of Portia, " I 
have a wife, whom I protest I love ; . ,1 wish she were 
in heaven, if she could but entreat some rj power there to 
change the cruel temper of this currish Jew." " It is well 
you wish this behind her back, else you would have but 
an unquiet house," said Nerissa. 



The Merchant of Venice 167 

Shylock now cried out impatiently, " We trifle time ; 
I pray pronounce the sentence." And now all was awful 
expectation in the court, and every heart was full of grief 
for Antonio. 

Portia asked if the scales were ready to weigh the flesh ; 
and she said to the Jew, " Shylock, you must have some 
surgeon by, lest he bleed to death." Shylock, whose 
whole intent was that Antonio should bleed to death, said, 
"It is not so named in the bond." Portia replied, " It is 
not so named in the bond, but what of that ? It were 
good you did so much for charity." To this all the answer 
Shylock would make was, " I cannot find it ; it is not in 
the bond." " Then," said Portia, " a pound of Antonio's 
flesh is thine. The law allows it, and the court awards 
it. And you may cut this flesh from off his breast. The 
law allows it and the court awards it." Again Shylock 
exclaimed, " O wise and upright judge ! A Daniel is 
come to judgment ! " And then he sharpened his long 
knife again, and looking eagerly on Antonio, he said, 
" Come, prepare! " 

"Tarry a little, Jew," said Portia; "there is something 
else. This bond here gives you no drop of blood ; the 
words expressly are, 'a pound of flesh.' If in the cutting 
off the pound of flesh you shed one drop of Christian 
blood, your lands and goods are by the law to be confis- 
cated to the state of Venice." Now as it was utterly 
impossible for Shylock to cut off the pound of flesh with- 
out shedding some of Antonio's blood, this wise discovery 
of Portia's, that it was flesh and not blood that was named 
in the bond, saved the life of Antonio ; and all admiring 
the wonderful sagacity of the young counsellor, who had 
so happily tho". ght of this expedient, plaudits resounded 
from every part of the senate-house ; and Gratiano ex- 
claimed, in the words which Shylock had used, " O wise 



1 68 Tales from Shakspeare 

and upright judge ! mark, Jew, a Daniel has come to 
judgment ! " 

Shylock, finding- himself defeated in his cruel intent, 
said with a disappointed look, that he would take the 
money; and Bassanio, rejoiced beyond measure at Anto- 
nio's unexpected deliverance, cried out, " Here is the 
money ! " But Portia stopped him, saying, " Softly ; 
there is no haste ; the Jew shall have nothing but the 
penalty : therefore prepare, Shylock, to cut off the flesh ; 
but mind you shed no blood : nor do not cut off more nor 
less than just a pound; be it more or less by one poor 
scruple, nay if the scale turn but by the weight of a single 
hair, you are condemned by the laws of Venice to die, and 
all your wealth is forfeited to the senate." " Give me my 
money, and let me go," said Shylock. " I have it ready," 
said Bassanio : " here it is." 

Shylock was going to take the money, when Portia 
again stopped him, saying, " Tarry, Jew ; I have yet 
another hold upon you. By the laws of Venice, your 
wealth is forfeited to the state, for having conspired 
against the life of one of its citizens, and your life lies at 
the mercy of the duke; therefore, down on your knees, 
and ask him to pardon you." 

The duke then said to Shylock, " That you may see the 
difference of our Christian spirit, I pardon you your life 
before you ask it ; half your wealth belongs to Antonio, 
the other half comes to the state." 

The generous Antonio then said that he would give up 
his share of Shylock's wealth, if Shylock would sign a deed 
to make it over at his death to his daughter and her hus- 
band ; for Antonio knew that the Jew had an only daugh- 
ter who had lately married against his consent to a young 
Christian, named Lorenzo, a friend of Antonio's, which 
had so offended Shylock, that he had disinherited her. 



The Merchant of Venice 169 

The Jew agreed to this : and being thus disappointed in 
his revenge, and despoiled of his riches, he said, " I am ill. 
Let me go home ; send the deed after me, and I will sign 
over half my riches to my daughter." — ''Get thee gone, 
then," said the duke, "and sign it ; and if you repent your 
cruelty and turn Christian, the state will forgive you the 
fine of the other half of your riches." 

The duke now released Antonio, and dismissed the 
court. He then highly praised the wisdom and ingenuity 
of the young counsellor, and invited him home to dinner. 
Portia, who meant to return to Belmont before her hus- 
band, replied, " I humbly thank your grace, but I must 
away directly." The duke said he was sorry he had not 
leisure to stay and dine with him ; and turning to Antonio, 
he added, " Reward this gentleman ; for in my mind you 
are much indebted to him." 

The duke and his senators left the court ; and then Bas- 
sanio said to Portia, " Most worthy gentleman, I and my 
friend Antonio have by your wisdom been this day ac- 
quitted of grievous penalties, and I beg you will accept of 
the three thousand ducats due unto the Jew." "And we 
shall stand indebted to you over and above," said Antonio, 
"in love and service evermore." 

Portia could not be prevailed upon to accept the money ; 
but upon Bassanio still pressing her to accept of some re- 
ward, she said, " Give me your gloves ; I will wear them 
for your sake ; " and then Bassanio taking off his gloves, 
she espied the ring which she had given him upon his fin- 
ger ; now it was the ring the wily lady wanted to get from 
him to make a merry jest when she saw her Bassanio 
again, that made her ask him for his gloves ; and she said, 
when she saw the ring, " and for your love I will take this 
ring from you." Bassanio was sadly distressed that the 
counsellor should ask him for the only thing he could not 



iyo Tales from Shakspeare 

part with, and he replied in great confusion, that he could 
not give him that ring, because it was his wife's gift, and 
he had vowed never to part with it ; but that he would 
give him the most valuable ring in Venice, and find it out 
by proclamation. On this Portia affected to be affronted, 
and left the court, saying, " You teach me, sir, how a beg- 
gar should be answered." 

" Dear Bassanio," said Antonio, " let him have the ring ; 
let my love and the great service he has done for me be 
valued against your wife's displeasure." Bassanio, ashamed 
to appear so ungrateful, yielded, and sent Gratiano after 
Portia with the ring ; and then the clerk Nerissa, who had 
also given Gratiano a ring, she begged his ring, and Gra- 
tiano (not choosing to be outdone in generosity by his 
lord) gave it to her. And there was laughing among 
these ladies to think, when they got home, how they 
would tax their husbands with giving away their rings, 
and swear that they had given them as a present to some 
woman. 

Portia, when she returned, was in that happy temper of 
mind which never fails to attend the consciousness of hav- 
ing performed a good action ; her cheerful spirits enjoyed 
everything she saw : the moon never seemed to shine so 
bright before ; and when that pleasant moon was hid be- 
hind a cloud, then a light which she saw from her house 
at Belmont as well pleased her charmed fancy, and she 
said to Nerissa, " That light we see is burning in my hall ; 
how far that little candle throws its beams, so shines a 
good deed in a naughty world;" and hearing the sound 
of music from her house, she said, " Methinks that music 
sounds much sweeter than by day." 

And now Portia and Nerissa entered the house, and 
dressing themselves in their own apparel, they awaited the 
arrival of their husbands, who soon followed them with 



The Merchant of Venice 171 

Antonio ; and Bassanio presenting his dear friend to the 
lady Portia, the congratulations and welcomings of that 
lady were hardly over, when they perceived Nerissa and 
her husband quarrelling in a corner of the room. " A 
quarrel already?" said Portia. "What is the matter?" 
Gratiano replied, " Lady, it is about a paltry gilt ring that 
Nerissa gave me, with words upon it like the poetry on a 
cutler's knife ; Love me, and leave me not." 

"What does the poetry or the value of the ring sig- 
nify ? " said Nerissa. " You swore to me when I gave it 
to you, that you would keep it till the hour of death ; and 
now you say you gave it to the lawyer's clerk. I know 
you gave it to a woman." — " By this hand," replied Grati- 
ano, " I gave it to a youth, a kind of boy, a little scrubbed 
boy, no higher than yourself ; he was clerk to the young 
counsellor that by his wise pleading saved Antonio's life : 
this prating boy begged it for a fee, and I could not for 
my life deny him." Portia said, " You were to blame, 
Gratiano, to part with your wife's first gift. I gave my 
lord Bassanio a ring, and I am sure he would not part with 
it for all the world." Gratiano, in excuse for his fault, 
now said, " My lord Bassanio gave his ring away to the 
counsellor, and then the boy, his clerk, that took some 
pains in writing, he begged my ring." 

Portia, hearing this, seemed very angry, and reproached 
Bassanio for giving away her ring ; and she said, Nerissa 
had taught her what to believe, and that she knew some 
woman had the ring. Bassanio was very unhappy to have 
so offended his dear lady, and he said with great earnest- 
ness, " No, by my honor, no woman had it, but a civil 
doctor, who refused three thousand ducats of me, and 
begged the ring, which when I denied him, he went dis- 
pleased away. What could I do, sweet Portia ? I was so 
beset with shame for my seeming ingratitude, that I was 



172 Tales from Shakspeare 

forced to send the ring after him. Pardon me, good lady; 
had you been there, I think you would have begged the 
ring of me to give the worthy doctor." 

" Ah ! " said Antonio, " I am the unhappy cause of 
these quarrels." 

Portia bid Antonio not to grieve at that, for that he was 
welcome notwithstanding; and then Antonio said, "I once 
did lend my body for Bassanio's sake ; and but for him to 
whom your husband gave the ring, I should have now been 
dead. I dare be bound again, my soul upon the forfeit, 
your lord will never more break his faith with you." — 
" Then you shall be his surety," said Portia ; " give him 
this ring, and bid him keep it better than the other." 

When Bassanio looked at this ring, he was strangely sur- 
prised to find it was the same he gave away ; and then 
Portia told him how she was the young counsellor, and 
Nerissa was her clerk ; and Bassanio found, to his un- 
speakable wonder and delight, that it was by the noble 
courage and wisdom of his wife that Antonio's life was 
saved. 

And Portia again welcomed Antonio, and gave him let- 
ters which by some chance had fallen into her hands, 
which contained an account of Antonio's ships, that were 
supposed lost, being safely arrived in the harbor. So 
these tragical beginnings of this rich merchant's story were 
all forgotten in the unexpected good fortune which ensued; 
and there was leisure to laugh at the comical adventure of 
the rings, and the husbands that did not know their own 
wives : Gratiano merrily swearing, in a sort of rhyming 
speech, that 

while he lived, heM fear no other thing 

So sore, as keeping safe Nerissa's ring. 




Timon of Athens 



TIMON OF ATHENS 

Timon, a lord of Athens, in the enjoyment of a princely 
fortune, affected a humor of liberality which knew no 
limits. His almost infinite wealth could not flow in so 
fast, but he poured it out faster upon all sorts and degrees 
of people. Not the poor only tasted of his bounty, but great 
lords did not disdain to rank themselves among his depend- 
ants and followers. His table was resorted to by all the 
luxurious feasters, and his house was open to all comers 
and goers at Athens. His large wealth combined with his 
free and prodigal nature to subdue all hearts to his love ; 
men of all minds and dispositions tendered their services 
to lord Timon, from the glass-faced flatterer, whose face 
reflects as in a mirror the present humor of his patron, to 
the rough and unbending cynic, who, affecting a contempt 
of men's persons, and an indifference to worldly things, 
yet could not stand out against the gracious manners and 
munificent soul of lord Timon, but would come (against his 
nature) to partake of his royal entertainments, and return 
most rich in his own estimation if he had received a nod 
or a salutation from Timon. 

If a poet had composed a work which wanted a recom- 
mendatory introduction to the world, he had no more to 
do but to dedicate it to lord Timon, and the poem was 
sure of sale, besides a present purse from the patron, and 
daily access to his house and table. If a painter had a 
picture to dispose of, he had only to take it to lord Timon, 
and pretend to consult his taste as to the merits of it ; 
nothing more was wanting to persuade the liberal-hearted 

i75 



176 Tales from Shakspeare 

lord to buy it. If a jeweller had a stone of price, or a 
mercer rich costly stuffs, which for their costliness lay 
upon his hands, lord Timon's house was a ready mart 
always open, where they might get off their wares or their 
jewellery at any price, and the good-natured lord would 
thank them into the bargain, as if they had done him a 
piece of courtesy in letting him have the refusal of such 
precious commodities. So that by this means his house 
was thronged with superfluous purchases, of no use but to 
swell uneasy and ostentatious pomp ; and his person was 
still more inconveniently beset with a crowd of these idle 
visitors, lying poets, painters, sharking tradesmen, lords, 
ladies, needy courtiers, and expectants, who continually 
filled his lobbies, raining their fulsome flatteries in whispers 
in his ears, sacrificing to him with adulation as to a God, 
making sacred the very stirrup by which he mounted his 
horse, and seeming as though they drank the free air but 
through his permission and bounty. 

Some of these daily dependants were young men of 
birth, who (their means not answering to their extrava- 
gance) had been put in prison by creditors, and redeemed 
thence by lord Timon ; these young prodigals thencefor- 
ward fastened upon his lordship, as if by common sympa- 
thy he were necessarily endeared to all such spendthrifts 
and loose livers, who, not being able to follow him in his 
wealth, found it easier to copy him in prodigality and 
copious spending of what was not their own. One of these 
flesh-flies was Ventidius, for whose debts, unjustly con- 
tracted, Timon but lately had paid down the sum of five 
talents. 

But among this confluence, this great flood of visitors, 
none were more conspicuous than the makers of presents 
and givers of gifts. It was fortunate for these men if 
Timon took a fancy to a dog or a horse, or any piece of 



Timon of Athens 177 

cheap furniture which was theirs. The thing so praised, 
whatever it was, was sure to be sent the next morning with 
the compliments of the giver for lord Timon's acceptance, 
and apologies for the unworthiness of the gift ; and this 
dog or horse, or whatever it might be, did not fail to pro- 
duce from Timon's bounty, who would not be outdone in 
gifts, perhaps twenty dogs or horses, certainly presents of 
far richer worth, as these pretended donors knew well 
enough, and that their false presents were but the putting 
out of so much money at large and speedy interest. In 
this way lord Lucius had lately sent to Timon a present of 
four milk-white horses trapped in silver, which this cun- 
ning lord had observed Timon upon some occasion to com- 
mend ; and another lord, Lucullus, had bestowed upon 
him in the same pretended way of free gift a brace of 
greyhounds, whose make and fleetness Timon had been 
heard to admire ; these presents the easy-hearted lord 
accepted without suspicion of the dishonest views of the 
presenters ; and the givers of course were rewarded with 
some rich return, a diamond or some jewel of twenty times 
the value of their false and mercenary donation. 

Sometimes these creatures would go to work in a more 
direct way, and with gross and palpable artifice, which yet 
the credulous Timon was too blind to see, would affect to 
admire and praise something that Timon possessed, a bar- 
gain that he had bought, or some late purchase, which was 
sure to draw from this yielding and soft-hearted lord a gift 
of the thing commended, for no service in the world done for 
it but the easy expense of a little cheap and obvious flattery. 
In this way Timon but the other day had given to one of 
these mean lords the bay courser which he himself rode 
upon, because his lordship had been pleased to say that it 
was a handsome beast and went well ; and Timon knew 
that no man ever justly praised what he did not wish to 



178 Tales from Shakspeare 

possess. For lord Timon weighed his friends' affection 
with his own, and so fond was he of bestowing, that he 
could have dealt kingdoms to these supposed friends, and 
never have been weary. 

Not that Timon's wealth all went to enrich these wicked 
flatterers ; he could do noble and praiseworthy actions ; 
and when a servant of his once loved the daughter of a 
rich Athenian, but could not hope to obtain her by reason 
that in wealth and rank the maid was so far above him, 
lord Timon freely bestowed upon his servant three Athe- 
nian talents, to make his fortune equal with the dowry 
which the father of the young maid demanded of him who 
should be her husband. But for the most part, knaves and 
parasites had the command of his fortune, false friends 
whom he did not know to be such, but, because they flocked 
around his person, he thought they must needs love him ; 
and because they smiled and flattered him, he thought 
surely that his conduct was approved by all the wise and 
good. And when he was feasting in the midst of all these 
flatterers and mock friends, when they were eating him up, 
and draining his fortunes dry with large draughts of rich- 
est wines drunk to his health and prosperity, he could not 
perceive the difference of a friend from a flatterer, but to 
his deluded eyes (made proud with the sight) it seemed a 
precious comfort to have so many like brothers command- 
ing one another's fortunes (though it was his own fortune 
which paid all the costs), and with joy they would run 
over at the spectacle of such, as it appeared to him, truly 
festive and fraternal meeting. 

But while he thus outwent the very heart of kindness, 
and poured out his bounty, as if Plutus, the god of gold, 
had been but his steward ; while thus he proceeded with- 
out care or stop, so senseless of expense that he would 
neither inquire how he could maintain it, nor cease his 



Timon of Athens 179 

wild flow of riot; his riches, which were not infinite, must 
needs melt away before a prodigality which knew no limits. 
But who should tell him so ? his flatterers ? they had an 
interest in shutting his eyes. In vain did his honest stew- 
ard Flavius try to represent to him his condition, laying 
his accounts before him, begging of him, praying of him, 
with an importunity that on any other occasion would have 
been unmannerly in a servant, beseeching him with tears 
to look into the state of his affairs. Timon would still put 
him off, and turn the discourse to something else ; for 
nothing is so deaf to remonstrance as riches turned to 
poverty, nothing is so unwilling to believe its situation, 
nothing so incredulous to its own true state, and hard to 
give credit to a reverse. Often had this good steward, 
this honest creature, when all the rooms of Timon's great 
house have been choked up with riotous feeders at his 
master's cost, when the floors have wept with drunken 
spilling of wine, and every apartment has blazed with lights 
and resounded with music and feasting, often had he re- 
tired by himself to some solitary spot and wept faster than 
the wine ran from the wasteful casks within, to see the 
mad bounty of his lord, and to think, when the means were 
gone, which brought him praises from all sorts of people, 
how quickly the breath would be gone of which the praise 
was made; praises won in feasting would be lost in fast- 
ing, and at one cloud of winter-showers these flies would 
disappear. 

But now the time was come that Timon could shut his 
ears no longer to the representations of this faithful stew- 
ard. Money must be had ; and when he ordered Flavius 
to sell some of his land for that purpose, Flavius informed 
him, what he had in vain endeavored at several times 
before to make him listen to, that most of his land was 
already sold or forfeited, and that all he possessed at 



180 Tales from Shakspeare 

present was not enough to pay the one half of what he 
owed. Struck with wonder at this representation, Timon 
hastily replied, " My lands extend from Athens to Lace- 
daemon." " O my good lord," said Flavius, "the world is 
but a world, and has bounds ; were it all yours to give it 
in a breath, how quickly were it gone ! " 

Timon consoled himself that no villanous bounty had 
yet come from him, that if he had given his wealth away 
unwisely, it had not been bestowed to feed his vices, but 
to cherish his friends ; and he bade the kind-hearted stew- 
ard (who was weeping) to take comfort in the assurance 
that his master could never lack means, while he had so 
many noble friends ; and this infatuated lord persuaded 
himself that he had nothing to do but to send and borrow, 
to use every man's fortune (that had ever tasted his bounty) 
in this extremity, as freely as his own. Then with a cheer- 
ful look, as if confident of the trial, he severally despatched 
messengers to lord Lucius, to lords Lucullus and Sempro- 
nius, men upon whom he had lavished his gifts in past 
times without measure or moderation ; and to Ventidius, 
whom he had lately released out of prison by paying his 
debts, and who, by the death of his father, was now come 
into the possession of an ample fortune, and well enabled 
to requite Timon's courtesy : to request of Ventidius the 
return of those rive talents which he had paid for him, and 
of each of those noble lords the loan of fifty talents ; 
nothing doubting that their gratitude would supply his 
wants (if he needed it) to the amount of five hundred 
times fifty talents. 

Lucullus was the first applied to. This mean lord had 
been dreaming overnight of a silver basin and cup, and 
when Timon's servant was announced, his sordid mind 
suggested to him that this was surely a making out of his 
dream, and that Timon had sent him such a present : but 



Timon of Athens 1 8 1 

when he understood the truth of the matter, and that 
Timon wanted money, the quality of his faint and watery 
friendship showed itself, for with many protestations he 
vowed to the servant that he had long foreseen the ruin of 
his master's affairs, and many a time had he come to din- 
ner to tell him of it, and had come again to supper to try 
to persuade him to spend less, but he would take no coun- 
sel nor warning by his coming : and true it was that he had 
been a constant attender (as he said) at Timon's feasts, as 
he had in greater things tasted his bounty ; but that he 
ever came with that intent, or gave good counsel or reproof 
to Timon, was a base unworthy lie, which he suitably 
followed up with meanly offering the servant a bribe, to go 
home to his master and tell him that he had not found 
Lucullus at home. 

As little success had the messenger who was sent to 
lord Lucius. This lying lord who was full of Timon's 
meat, and enriched almost to bursting with Timon's costly 
presents, when he found the wind changed, and the foun- 
tain of so much bounty suddenly stopped, at first could 
hardly believe it ; but on its being confirmed, he affected 
great regret that he should not have it in his power to 
serve lord Timon, for unfortunately (which was a base 
falsehood) he had made a great purchase the day before, 
which had quite disfurnished him of the means at present, 
the more beast he, he called himself, to put it out of his 
power to serve so good a friend ; and he counted it one of 
his greatest afflictions that his ability should fail him to 
pleasure such an honorable gentleman. 

Who can call any man friend that dips in the same dish 
with him ? just of this metal is every flatterer. In the 
recollection of everybody Timon had been a father to this 
Lucius, had kept up his credit with his purse ; Timon's 
money had gone to pay the wages of his servants, to pay 



1 82 Tales from Shakspeare 

the hire of the laborers, who had sweat to build the fine 
houses which Lucius' pride had made necessary to him : 
yet, oh ! the monster which man makes himself when he 
proves ungrateful! this Lucius now denied to Timon a 
sum, which, in respect of what Timon had bestowed on 
him, was less than charitable men afford to beggars. 

Sempronius, and every one of these mercenary lords to 
whom Timon applied in their turn, returned the same 
evasive answer or direct denial ; even Ventidius, the 
redeemed and now rich Ventidius, refused to assist him 
with the loan of those five talents which Timon had not 
lent but generously given him in his distress. 

Now was Timon as much avoided in his poverty as he 
had been courted and resorted to in his riches. Now the 
same tongues which had been loudest in his praises, extoll- 
ing him as bountiful, liberal, and open-handed, were not 
ashamed to censure that very bounty as folly, that liberality 
as profuseness, though it had shown itself folly in nothing 
so truly as in the selection of such unworthy creatures as 
themselves for its objects. Now was Timon's princely 
mansion forsaken, and become a shunned and hated place, 
a place for men to pass by, not a place, as formerly, where 
every passenger must stop and taste of his wine and good 
cheer ; now, instead of being thronged with feasting and 
tumultuous guests, it was beset with impatient and clam- 
orous creditors, usurers, extortioners, fierce and intolerable 
in their demands, pleading bonds, interest, mortgages ; 
iron-hearted men that would take no denial nor putting off, 
that Timon's house was now his jail, which he could not 
pass, nor go in nor out for them ; one demanding his due 
of fifty talents, another bringing in a bill of five thousand 
crowns, which if he would tell out his blood by drops, and 
pay them so, he had not enough in his body to discharge, 
drop by drop. 



Timon of Athens 183 

In this desperate and irremediable state (as it seemed) 
of his affairs, the eyes of all men were suddenly surprised 
at a new and incredible lustre which this setting sun put 
forth. Once more lord Timon proclaimed a feast, to which 
he invited his accustomed guests, lords, ladies, all that was 
great or fashionable in Athens. Lords Lucius and Lucul- 
lus came,Ventidius, Sempronius, and the rest. Who more 
sorry now than these fawning wretches, when they found 
(as they thought) that lord Timon's poverty was all pre- 
tence, and had been only put on to make trial of their 
loves, to think that they should not have seen through the 
artifice at the time, and have had the cheap credit of oblig- 
ing his lordship ? yet who more glad to find the fountain of 
that noble bounty, which they had thought dried up, still 
fresh and running ? They came dissembling, protesting, 
expressing deepest sorrow and shame, that when his lord- 
ship sent to them, they should have been so unfortunate 
as to want the present means to oblige so honorable a 
friend. But Timon begged them not to give such trifles a 
thought, for he had altogether forgotten it. And these base 
fawning lords, though they had denied him money in his 
adversity, yet could not refuse their presence at this new 
blaze of his returning prosperity. For the swallow follows 
not summer more willingly than men of these dispositions 
follow the good fortunes of the great, nor more willingly 
leaves winter than these shrink from the first appearance 
of a reverse ; such summer birds are men. But now with 
music and state the banquet of smoking dishes was served 
up ; and when the guests had a little done admiring whence 
the bankrupt Timon could find means to furnish so costly 
a feast, some doubting whether the scene which they saw 
was real, as scarce trusting their own eyes ; at a signal 
given, the dishes were uncovered, and Timon's drift ap- 
peared : instead of those varieties and far-fetched dainties 



184 Tales from Shakspeare 

which they expected, that Timon's epicurean table in past 
times had so liberally presented, now appeared under the 
covers of these dishes a preparation more suitable to Ti- 
mon's poverty, nothing but a little smoke and lukewarm 
water, fit feast for this knot of mouth-friends, whose pro- 
fessions were indeed smoke, and their hearts lukewarm 
and slippery as the water with which Timon welcomed his 
astonished guests, bidding them, " Uncover, dogs, and lap ; " 
and before they could recover their surprise, sprinkling it 
in their faces, that they might have enough, and throwing 
dishes and all after them, who now ran huddling out, lords, 
ladies, with their caps snatched up in haste, a splendid 
confusion, Timon pursuing them, still calling them what 
they were, " smooth smiling parasites, destroyers under the 
mask of courtesy, affable wolves, meek bears, fools of for- 
tune, feast friends, time-flies." They, crowding out to 
avoid him; left the house more willingly than they had 
entered it ; some losing their gowns and caps, and some 
their jewels in the hurry, all glad to escape out of the 
presence of such a mad lord, and from the ridicule of 
his mock banquet. 

This was the last feast which ever Timon made, and in 
it he took farewell of Athens and the society of men ; for, 
after that, he betook himself to the woods, turning his 
back upon the hated city and upon all mankind, wishing 
the walls of that detestable city might sink, and the houses 
fall upon their owners, wishing all plagues which infest 
humanity, war, outrage, poverty, diseases, might fasten 
upon its inhabitants, praying the just gods to confound all 
Athenians, both young and old, high and low ; so wishing, 
he went to the woods, where he said he should find the 
unkindest beast much kinder than mankind. He stripped 
himself naked, that he might retain no fashion of a man, 
and dug a cave to live in, and lived solitary in the manner 



Timon of Athens 185 

of a beast, eating the wild roots, and drinking water, flying 
from the face of his kind, and choosing rather to herd 
with wild beasts, as more harmless and friendly than man. 

What a change from lord Timon the rich, lord Timon 
the delight of mankind, to Timon the naked, Timon the 
man-hater ! Where were his flatterers now ? Where were 
his attendants and retinue ? Would the bleak air, that 
boisterous servitor, be his chamberlain, to put his shirt on 
warm ? Would those stiff trees that had outlived the eagle, 
turn young and airy pages to him, to skip on his errands 
when he bade them ? Would the cold brook, when it was 
iced with winter, administer to him his warm broths and 
caudles when sick of an overnight's surfeit? Or would 
the creatures that lived in those wild woods come and lick 
his hand and flatter him ? 

Here on a day, when he was digging for roots, his poor 
sustenance, his spade struck against something heavy, 
which proved to be gold, a great heap which some miser 
had probably buried in a time of alarm, thinking to have 
come again, and taken it from its prison, but died before 
the opportunity had arrived, without making any man 
privy to the concealment ; so it lay, doing neither good nor 
harm, in the bowels of the earth, its mother, as if it had 
never come from thence, till the accidental striking of 
Timon's spade against it once more brought it to light. 

Here was a mass of treasure which, if Timon had 
retained his old mind, was enough to have purchased him 
friends and flatterers again ; but Timon was sick of the 
false world, and the sight of gold was poisonous to his 
eyes ; and he would have restored it to the earth, but that, 
thinking of the infinite calamities which by means of gold 
happen to mankind, how the lucre of it causes robberies, 
oppression, injustice, briberies, violence, and murder, among 
men, he had a pleasure in imagining (such a rooted hatred 



1 86 Tales from Shakspeare 

did he bear to his species) that out of this heap, which in 
digging he had discovered, might arise some mischief to 
plague mankind. And some soldiers passing through the 
woods near to his cave at that instant, which proved to be 
a part of the troops of the Athenian captain Alcibiades, 
who upon some disgust taken against the senators of 
Athens (the Athenians were ever noted to be a thankless 
and ungrateful people, giving disgust to their generals and 
best friends), was marching at the head of the same tri- 
umphant army which he had formerly headed in their 
defence, to war against them ; Timon, who liked their 
business well, bestowed upon their captain the gold to pay 
his soldiers, requiring no other service from him, than that 
he should with his conquering army lay Athens level with 
the ground, and burn, slay, kill all her inhabitants ; not 
sparing the old men for their white beards, for (he said) 
they were usurers, nor the young children for their seem- 
ing innocent smiles, for those (he said) would live, if they 
grew up, to be traitors ; but to steel his eyes and ears 
against any sights or sounds that might awaken compas- 
sion ; and not to let the cries of virgins, babes, or mothers, 
hinder him from making one universal massacre of the 
city, but to confound them all in his conquest ; and when 
he had conquered, he prayed that the gods would con- 
found him also, the conqueror : so thoroughly did Timon 
hate Athens, Athenians, and all mankind. 

While he lived in this forlorn state, leading a life more 
brutal than human, he was suddenly surprised one day 
with the appearance of a man standing in an admiring 
posture at the door of his cave. It was Flavius, the hon- 
est steward, whom love and zealous affection to his master 
had led to seek him out at his wretched dwelling, and to 
offer his services ; and the first sight of his master, the 
once noble Timon, in that abject condition, naked as he 



Timon of Athens 187 

was born, living in the manner of a beast among beasts, 
looking like his own sad ruins and a monument of decay, 
so affected this good servant, that he stood speechless, 
wrapped up in horror, and confounded. And when he 
found utterance at last to his words, they were so choked 
with tears, that Timon had much ado to know him again, 
or to make out who it was that had come (so contrary to 
the experience he had had of mankind) to offer him ser- 
vice in extremity. And being in the form and shape of a 
man, he suspected him for a traitor, and his tears for false ; 
but the good servant by so many tokens confirmed the 
truth of his fidelity, and made it clear that nothing but 
love and zealous duty to his once dear master had brought 
him there, that Timon was forced to confess that the 
world contained one honest man ; yet, being in the shape 
and form of a man, he could not look upon his man's face 
without abhorrence, or hear words uttered from his man's 
lips without loathing ; and this singly honest man was 
forced to depart, because he was a man, and because, with 
a heart more gentle and compassionate than is usual to 
man, he bore man's detested form and outward feature. 

But greater visitants than a poor steward were about to 
interrupt the savage quiet of Timon' s solitude. For now 
the day was come when the ungrateful lords of Athens 
sorely repented the injustice which they had done to the 
noble Timon. For Alcibiades, like an incensed wild boar, 
was raging at the walls of their city, and with his hot siege 
threatened to lay fair Athens in the dust. And now the 
memory of lord Timon's former prowess and military con- 
duct came fresh into their forgetful minds, for Timon had 
been their general in past times, and a valiant and expert 
soldier, who alone of all the Athenians was deemed able to 
cope with a besieging army such as then threatened them, 
or to drive back the furious approaches of Alcibiades. 



1 88 Tales from Shakspeare 

A deputation of the senators was chosen in this emer- 
gency to wait upon Timon. To him they come in their 
extremity, to whom, when he was in extremity, they had 
shown but small regard ; as if they presumed upon his 
gratitude whom they had disobliged, and had derived a 
claim to his courtesy from their own most discourteous and 
unpiteous treatment. 

Now they earnestly beseech him, implore him with tears, 
to return and save that city, from which their ingratitude 
had so lately driven him ; now they offer him riches, power, 
dignities, satisfaction for past injuries, and public honors, 
and the public love ; their persons, lives, and fortunes, to 
be at his disposal, if he will but come back and save them. 
But Timon the naked, Timon the man-hater, was no longer 
lord Timon, the lord of bounty, the flower of valor, their 
defence in war, their ornament in peace. If Alcibiades 
killed his countrymen, Timon cared not. If he sacked 
fair Athens, and slew her old men and her infants, Timon 
would rejoice. So he told them ; and that there was not a 
knife in the unruly camp which he did not prize above the 
reverendest throat in Athens. 

This was all the answer he vouchsafed to the weeping 
disappointed senators ; only at parting he bade them com- 
mend him to his countrymen, and tell them, that to ease 
them of their griefs and anxieties, and to prevent the con- 
sequences of fierce Alcibiades' wrath, there was yet a way 
left, which he would teach them, for he had yet so much 
affection left for his dear countrymen as to be willing to do 
them a kindness before his death. These words a little 
revived the senators, who hoped that his kindness for their 
city was returning. Then Timon told them that he had a 
tree, which grew near his cave, which he should shortly 
have occasion to cut down, and he invited all his friends in 
Athens, high or low, of what degree soever, who wished to 



Timon of Athens 189 

shun affliction, to come and take a taste of his tree before 
he cut it down ; meaning, that they might come and hang 
themselves on it, and escape affliction that way. 

And this was the last courtesy, of all his noble bounties, 
which Timon showed to mankind, and this the last sight of 
him which his countrymen had : for not many days after, 
a poor soldier passing by the sea-beach, which was at a 
little distance from the woods which Timon frequented, 
found a tomb on the verge of the sea, with an inscription 
upon it purporting that it was the grave of Timon the man- 
hater, who " While he lived, did hate all living men, and 
dying wished a plague might consume all caitiffs left ! " 

Whether he finished his life by violence, or whether 
mere distaste of life and the loathing he had for mankind 
brought Timon to his conclusion, was not clear, yet all men 
admired the fitness of his epitaph, and the consistency of 
his end ; dying as he had lived, a hater of mankind ; and 
some there were who fancied a conceit in the very choice 
which he had made of the sea-beach for his place of burial, 
where the vast sea might weep for ever upon his grave, as 
in contempt of the transient and shallow tears of hypocrit- 
ical and deceitful mankind. 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL 

Bertram, count of Rousillon, had newly come to his 
title and estate, by the death of his father. The king of 
France loved the father of Bertram, and when he heard of 
his death, he sent for his son to come immediately to his 
royal court in Paris, intending, for the friendship he bore 
the late count, to grace young Bertram with his especial 
favor and protection. 

Bertram was living with his mother, the widowed countess, 
when Lafeu, an old lord of the French court, came to con- 
duct him to the king. The king of France was an abso- 
lute monarch, and the invitation to court was in the form 
of a royal mandate, or positive command, which no sub- 
ject, of what high dignity soever, might disobey; there- 
fore though the countess, in parting with this dear son, 
seemed a second time to bury her husband, whose loss she 
had so lately mourned, yet she dared not to keep him a 
single day, but gave instant orders for his departure. 
Lafeu, who came to fetch him, tried to comfort the count- 
ess for the loss of her late lord, and her son's sudden 
absence; and he said, in a courtier's flattering manner, 
that the king was so kind a prince, she would find in his 
majesty a husband, and that he would be a father to her 
son ; meaning only, that the good king would befriend the 
fortunes of Bertram. Lafeu told the countess that the 
king had fallen into a sad malady, which was pronounced 
by his physicians to be incurable. The lady expressed 
great sorrow on hearing this account of the king's ill- 
health, and said, she wished the father of Helena (a young 

190 




All's Well that Ends Well 



All's Well that Ends Well 193 

gentlewoman who was present in attendance upon her) 
were living, for that she doubted not he could have cured 
his majesty of his disease. And she told Lafeu something 
of the history of Helena, saying she was the only daughter 
of the famous physician Gerard de Narbon, and that he had 
recommended his daughter to her care when he was dying, 
so that since his death she had taken Helena under her 
protection ; then the countess praised the virtuous disposi- 
tion and excellent qualities of Helena, saying she inherited 
these virtues from her worthy father. While she was 
speaking, Helena wept in sad and mournful silence, which 
made the countess gently reprove her for too much griev- 
ing for her father's death. 

Bertram now bade his mother farewell. The countess 
parted with this dear son with tears and many blessings, 
and commended him to the care of Lafeu, saying, " Good, 
my lord, advise him, for he is an unseasoned courtier." 

Bertram's last words were spoken to Helena, but they 
were words of mere civility, wishing her happiness ; and 
he concluded his short farewell to her with saying, " Be 
comfortable to my mother, your mistress, and make much 
of her." 

Helena had long loved Bertram, and when she wept in 
sad and mournful silence, the tears she shed were not for 
Gerard de Narbon. Helena loved her father, but in the 
present feeling of a deeper love, the object of which she 
was about to lose, she had forgotten the very form and 
features of her dead father, her imagination presenting no 
image to her mind but Bertram's. 

Helena had long loved Bertram, yet she always remem- 
bered that he was the count of Rousillon, descended from 
the most ancient family in France. She of humble birth. 
Her parents of no note at all. His ancestors all noble. 
And therefore she looked up to the high-born Bertram as 



194 Tales from Shakspeare 

to her master and to her dear lord, and dared not form 
any wish but to live his servant, and so living to die his 
Vassal. So great the distance seemed to her between his 
height of dignity and her lowly fortunes, that she would 
say, " It were all one that I should love a bright particular 
star, and think to wed it, Bertram is so far above me." 

Bertram's absence filled her eyes with tears and her 
heart with sorrow ; for though she loved without hope, yet 
it was a pretty comfort to her to see him every hour, and 
Helena would sit and look upon his dark eye, his arched 
brow, and the curls of his fine hair, till she seemed to draw 
his portrait on the tablet of her heart, that heart too capa- 
ble of retaining the memory of every line in the features 
of that loved face. 

Gerard de Narbon, when he died, left her no other por- 
tion than some prescriptions of rare and well-proved virtue, 
which by deep study and long experience in medicine he 
had collected as sovereign and almost infallible remedies. 
Among the rest, there was one set down as an approved 
medicine for the disease under which Lafeu said the king 
at that time languished : and when Helena heard of the 
king's complaint, she, who till now had been so humble 
and so hopeless, formed an ambitious project in her mind 
to go herself to Paris, and undertake the cure of the king. 
But though Helena was the possessor of this choice pre- 
scription, it was unlikely, as the king as well as his physi- 
cians was of opinion that his disease was incurable, that 
they would give credit to a poor unlearned virgin, if she 
should offer to perform a cure. The firm hopes that 
Helena had of succeeding, if she might be permitted to 
make the trial, seemed more than even her father's skill 
warranted, though he was the most famous physician of 
his time ; for she felt a strong faith that this good medi- 
cine was sanctified by all the luckiest stars in heaven to be 



All's Well that Ends Well 195 

the legacy that should advance her fortune, even to the 
high dignity of being count Rousillon's wife. 

Bertram had not been long gone, when the countess was 
informed by her steward, that he had overheard Helena 
talking to herself, and that he understood from some 
words she uttered, she was in love with Bertram, and 
thought of following him to Paris. The countess dis- 
missed the steward with thanks, and desired him to tell 
Helena she wished to speak with her. What she had just 
heard of Helena brought the remembrance of days long 
past into the mind of the countess ; those days probably 
when her love for Bertram's father first began ; and she 
said to herself, " Even so it was with me when I was 
young. Love is a thorn that belongs to the rose of youth ; 
for in the season of youth, if ever we are nature's children, 
these faults are ours, though then we think not they are 
faults." While the countess was thus meditating on the 
loving errors of her own youth, Helena entered, and she 
said to her, " Helena, you know I am a mother to you." 
Helena replied, " You are my honorable mistress." "You 
are my daughter," said the countess again : " I say I am 
your mother. Why do you start and look pale at my 
words?" With looks of alarm and confused thoughts, 
fearing the countess suspected her love, Helena still 
replied, " Pardon me, madam, you are not my mother ; 
the count Rousillon cannot be my brother, nor I your 
daughter." " Yet, Helena," said the countess, "you 
might be my daughter-in-law ; and I am afraid that is 
what you mean to be, the words mother and daughter so 
disturb you. Helena, do you love my son ? " " Good 
madam, pardon me," said the affrighted Helena. Again 
the countess repeated her question, " Do you love my 
son?" "Do not you love him, madam?" said Helena. 
The countess replied, " Give me not this evasive answer, 



196 Tales from Shakspeare 

Helena. Come, come, disclose the state of your affections, 
for your love has to the full appeared." Helena on her 
knees now owned her love, and with shame and terror 
implored the pardon of her noble mistress ; and with 
words expressive of the sense she had of the inequality 
between their fortunes, she protested Bertram did not 
know she loved him, comparing her humble unaspiring 
love to a poor Indian, who adores the sun that looks upon 
his worshipper, but knows of him no more. The countess 
asked Helena if she had not lately an intent to go to Paris ? 
Helena owned the design she had formed in her mind, 
when she heard Lafeu speak of the king's illness. " This 
was your motive for wishing to go to Paris," said the 
countess, "was it? Speak truly." Helena honestly 
answered, " My lord your son made me to think of this ; 
else Paris, and the medicine, and the king, had from the 
conversation of my thoughts been absent then." The 
countess heard the whole of this confession without say- 
ing a word either of approval or of blame, but she strictly 
questioned Helena as to the probability of the medicine 
being useful to the king. She found that it was the most 
prized by Gerard de Narbon of all he possessed, and that 
he had given it to his daughter on his deathbed ; and 
remembering the solemn promise she had made at that 
awful hour in regard to this young maid, whose destiny, 
and the life of the king himself, seemed to depend on the 
execution of a project (which though conceived by the fond 
suggestions of a loving maiden's thoughts, the countess 
knew not but it might be the unseen workings of Provi- 
dence to bring to pass the recovery of the king, and to lay 
the foundation of the future fortunes of Gerard de Nar- 
bon's daughter), free leave she gave to Helena to pursue 
her own way, and generously furnished her with ample 
means and suitable attendants ; and Helena set out for 



All's Well that Ends Well 197 

Paris with the blessings of the countess, and her kindest 
wishes for her success. 

Helena arrived at Paris, and by the assistance of her 
friend the old lord Lafeu, she obtained an audience of the 
king. She had still many difficulties to encounter, for the 
king was not easily prevailed on to try the medicine offered 
him by this fair young doctor. But she told him she was 
Gerard de Narbon's daughter (with whose fame the king 
was well acquainted), and she offered the precious medicine 
as the darling treasure which contained the essence of all 
her father's long experience and skill, and she boldly en- 
gaged to forfeit her life, if it failed to restore his majesty 
to perfect health in the space of two days. The king at 
length consented to try it, and in two day's time Helena 
was to lose her life if the king did not recover ; but if she 
succeeded, he promised to give her the choice of any man 
throughout all France (the princes only excepted) whom 
she could like for a husband ; the choice of husband being 
the fee Helena demanded if she cured the king of his dis- 
ease. 

Helena did not deceive herself in the hope she conceived 
of the efficacy of her father's medicine. Before two days 
were at an end, the king was restored to perfect health, 
and he assembled all the young noblemen of his court to- 
gether, in order to confer the promised reward of a hus- 
band upon his fair physician ; and he desired Helena to 
look round on this youthful parcel of noble bachelors, and 
choose her husband. Helena was not slow to make her 
choice, for among these young lords she saw the count 
Rousillon, and turning to Bertram, she said, " This is the 
man. I dare not say, my lord, I take you, but I give me 
and my service ever whilst I live into your guiding power." 

"Why, then," said the king, "young Bertram, take her; 
she is your wife." Bertram did not hesitate to declare his 



198 Tales from Shakspeare 

dislike to this present of the king's of the self-offered Hel- 
ena, who, he said, was a poor physician's daughter, bred 
at his father's charge, and now living a dependent on his 
mother's bounty. Helena heard him speak these words of 
rejection and of scorn, and she said to the king, " That you 
are well, my lord, I am glad. Let the rest go." But the 
king would not suffer his royal command to be so slighted ; 
for the power of bestowing their nobles in marriage was 
one of the many privileges of the kings of France ; and 
that same day Bertram was married to Helena, a forced 
and uneasy marriage to Bertram, and of no promising hope 
to the poor lady, who, though she gained the noble hus- 
band she had hazarded her life to obtain, seemed to have 
won but a splendid blank, her husband's love not being a 
gift in the power of the king of France to bestow. 

Helena was no sooner married, than she was desired by 
Bertram to apply to the king for him for leave of absence 
from court; and when she brought him the king's permis- 
sion for his departure, Bertram told her that he was not 
prepared for this sudden marriage, it had much unsettled 
him, and therefore she must not wonder at the course he 
should pursue. If Helena wondered not, she grieved when 
she found it was his intention to leave her. He ordered 
her to go home to his mother. When Helena heard this 
unkind command, she replied, " Sir, I can nothing say to 
this, but that I am your most obedient servant, and shall 
ever with true observance seek to eke out that desert, 
wherein my homely stars have failed to equal my great 
fortunes." But this humble speech of Helena's did not at 
all move the haughty Bertram to pity his gentle wife, and 
he parted from her without even the common civility of a 
kind farewell. 

Back to the countess then Helena returned. She had 
accomplished the purport of her journey, she had preserved 



All's Well that Ends Well 



199 



the life of the king, and she had wedded her heart's dear 
lord, the count Rousillon ; but she returned back a dejected 
lady to her noble mother-in-law, and as soon as she entered 
the house, she received a letter from Bertram which almost 
broke her heart. 

The good countess received her with a cordial welcome, 
as if she had been her son's own choice, and a lady of a 
high degree, and she spoke kind words to comfort her for 
the unkind neglect of Bertram in sending his wife home 
on her bridal day alone. But this gracious reception failed 
to cheer the sad mind of Helena, and she said, " Madam, 
my lord is gone, forever gone." She then read these 
words out of Bertram's letter : When you can get tJie ring 
from my finger, zvJiicJi never shall come off, then call me 
husband, but in such a TJicn I write a Never. " This is a 
dreadful sentence ! " said Helena. The countess begged 
her to have patience, and said, now Bertram was gone, she 
should be her child, and that she deserved a lord that twenty 
such rude boys as Bertram might tend upon, and hourly 
call her mistress. But in vain by respectful condescension 
and kind flattery this matchless mother tried to soothe the 
sorrows of her daughter-in-law. 

Helena still kept her eyes fixed upon the letter, and 
cried out in an agony of grief, Till I have no ivife, I have 
nothing in France. The countess asked her if she found 
those words in the letter? "Yes, madam," was all poor 
Helena could answer. 

The next morning Helena was missing. She left a 
letter to be delivered to the countess after she was gone, 
to acquaint her with the reason of her sudden absence : in 
this letter she informed her, that she was so much grieved 
at having driven Bertram from his native country and his 
home, that to atone for her offence, she had undertaken a 
pilgrimage to the shrine of St. Jaques le Grand, and con- 



200 Tales from Shakspeare 

eluded with requesting the countess to inform her son 
that the wife he so hated had left his house forever. 

Bertram, when he left Paris, went to Florence, and 
there became an officer in the duke of Florence's army, 
and after a successful war, in which he distinguished him- 
self by many brave actions, Bertram received letters from 
his mother, containing the acceptable tidings that Helena 
would no more disturb him ; and he was preparing to 
return home, when Helena herself, clad in her pilgrim's 
weeds, arrived at the city of Florence. 

Florence was a city through which the pilgrims used to 
pass on their way to St. Jaques le Grand; and when 
Helena arrived at this city, she heard that a hospitable 
widow dwelt there, who used to receive into her house the 
female pilgrims that were going to visit the shrine of that 
saint, giving them lodging and kind entertainment. To 
this good lady, therefore, Helena went, and the widow 
gave her a courteous welcome, and invited her to see 
whatever was curious in that famous city, and told her 
that if she would like to see the duke's army, she would 
take her where she might have a full view of it. " And 
you will see a countryman of yours," said the widow ; " his 
name is count Rousillon, who has done worthy service in 
the duke's wars." Helena wanted no second invitation, 
when she found Bertram was to make part of the show. 
She accompanied her hostess ; and a sad and mournful 
pleasure it was to her to look once more upon her dear 
husband's face. " Is he not a handsome man ? " said the 
widow. "I like him well," replied Helena with great 
truth. All the way they walked, the talkative widow's 
discourse was all of Bertram : she told Helena the story 
of Bertram's marriage, and how he had deserted the poor 
lady his wife, and entered into the duke's army to avoid 
living with her. To this account of her own misfortunes 



All's Well that Ends Well 201 

Helena patiently listened, and when it was ended, the 
history of Bertram was not yet done, for then the widow 
began another tale, every word of which sank deep into 
the mind of Helena ; for the story she now told was of 
Bertram's love for her daughter. 

Though Bertram did not like the marriage forced on 
him by the king, it seems he was not insensible to love, 
for since he had been stationed with the army at Florence, 
he had fallen in love with Diana, a fair young gentle- 
woman, the daughter of this widow who was Helena's 
hostess ; and every night, with music of all sorts, and 
songs composed in praise of Diana's beauty, he would 
come under her window, and solicit her love ; and all his 
suit to her was, that she would permit him to visit her by 
stealth after the family were retired to rest ; but Diana 
would by no means be persuaded to grant this improper 
request, nor give any encouragement to his suit, knowing 
him to be a married man ; for Diana had been brought up 
under the counsels of a prudent mother, who, though she 
was now in reduced circumstances, was well born, and 
descended from the noble family of the Capulets. 

All this the good lady related to Helena, highly praising 
the virtuous principles of her discreet daughter, which she 
said were entirely owing to the excellent education and 
good advice she had given her ; and she further said, that 
Bertram had been particularly importunate with Diana to 
admit him to the visit he so much desired that night, be- 
cause he was going to leave Florence early the next 
morning. 

Though it grieved Helena to hear of Bertram's love for 
the widow's daughter, yet from this story the ardent mind 
of Helena conceived a project (nothing discouraged at the 
ill success of her former one) to recover her truant lord. 
She disclosed to the widow that she was Helena, the de- 



ioi Tales from Shakspeare 

serted wife of Bertram, and requested that her kind hostess 
and her daughter would suffer this visit from Bertram to 
take place, and allow her to pass herself upon Bertram for 
Diana ; telling them, her chief motive for desiring to have 
this secret meeting with her husband, was to get a ring 
from him, which he had said, if ever she was in possession 
of, he would acknowledge her as his wife. 

The widow and her daughter promised to assist her in 
this affair, partly moved by pity for this unhappy forsaken 
wife, and partly won over to her interest by the promises 
of reward which Helena made them, giving them a purse 
of money in earnest of her future favor. In the course of 
that day Helena caused information to be sent to Bertram 
that she was dead ; hoping that when he thought himself 
free to make a second choice by the news of her death, he 
would offer marriage to her in her feigned character of 
Diana. And if she could obtain the ring and this promise 
too, she doubted not she should make some future good 
come of it. 

In the evening, after it was dark, Bertram was admitted 
into Diana's chamber, and Helena was there ready to re- 
ceive him. The nattering compliments and love discourse 
he addressed to Helena were precious sounds to her, though 
she knew they were meant for Diana ; and Bertram was so 
well pleased with her, that he made her a solemn promise 
to be her husband, and to love her forever ; which she 
hoped would be prophetic of a real affection, when he 
should know it was his own wife, the despised Helena, 
whose conversation had so delighted him. 

Bertram never knew how sensible a lady Helena was, 
else perhaps he would not have been so regardless of her ; 
and seeing her every day, he had entirely overlooked her 
beauty ; a face we are accustomed to see constantly, losing 
the effect which is caused by the first sight either of beauty 



All's Well that Ends Well 203 

or of plainness ; and of her understanding it was impossi- 
ble he should judge, because she felt such reverence, mixed 
with her love for him, that she was always silent in his pres- 
ence : but now that her future fate, and the happy ending 
of all her love-projects, seemed to depend on her leaving a 
favorable impression on the mind of Bertram from this 
night's interview, she exerted all her wit to please him ; 
and the simple graces of her lively conversation and the 
endearing sweetness of her manners so charmed Bertram, 
that he vowed she should be his wife. Helena begged the 
ring from off his finger as a token of his regard, and he 
gave it to her ; and in return for this ring, which it was of 
such importance to her to possess, she gave him another 
ring, which was one the king had made her a present of. 
Before it was light in the morning, she sent Bertram away ; 
and he immediately set out on his journey towards his 
mother's house. 

Helena prevailed on the widow and Diana to accompany 
her to Paris, their further assistance being necessary to 
the full accomplishment of the plan she had formed. 
When they arrived there, they found the king was gone 
upon a visit to the countess of Rousillon, and Helena fol- 
lowed the king with all the speed she could make. 

The king was still in perfect health, and his gratitude 
to her who had been the means of his recovery was so 
lively in his mind, that the moment he saw the countess 
of Rousillon, he began to talk of Helena, calling her a 
precious jewel that was lost by the folly of her son ; but 
seeing the subject distressed the countess, who sincerely 
lamented the death of Helena, he said, " My good lady, I 
have forgiven and forgotten all." But the good-natured 
old Lafeu, who was present, and could not bear that the 
memory of his favorite Helena should be so lightly 
passed over, said, "This I must say, the young lord did 



204 Tales from Shakspeare 

great offence to his majesty, his mother, and his lady; 
but to himself he did the greatest wrong of all, for he has 
lost a wife whose beauty astonished all eyes, whose words 
took all ears captive, whose deep perfection made all 
hearts wish to serve her." The king said, "Praising what 
is ]ost makes the remembrance dear. Well — call him 
hither ; " meaning Bertram, who now presented himself 
before the king : and, on his expressing deep sorrow for 
the injuries he had done to Helena, the king, for his dead 
father's and his admirable mother's sake, pardoned him 
and restored him once more to his favor. But the gra- 
cious countenance of the king was soon changed towards 
him, for he perceived that Bertram wore the very ring 
upon his finger which he had given to Helena : and he 
well remembered that Helena had called all the saints in 
heaven to witness she would never part with that ring, 
unless she sent it to the king himself upon some great 
disaster befalling her ; and Bertram, on the king's ques- 
tioning him how he came by the ring, told an improbable 
story of a lady throwing it to him out of a window, and 
denied ever having seen Helena since the day of their 
marriage. The king, knowing Bertram's dislike to his 
wife, feared he had destroyed her : and he ordered his 
guards to seize Bertram, saying, " I am wrapt in dismal 
thinking, for I fear the life of Helena was foully snatched." 
At this moment Diana and her mother entered, and pre- 
sented a petition to the king, wherein they begged his 
majesty to exert his royal power to compel Bertram to 
marry Diana, he having made her a solemn promise of 
marriage. Bertram, fearing the king's anger, denied he 
had made any such promise ; and then Diana produced 
the ring (which Helena had put into her hands) to con- 
firm the truth of her words ; and she said that she had 
given Bertram the ring he then wore, in exchange for 



All's Well that Ends Well 205 

that, at the time he vowed to marry her. On hearing 
this, the king ordered the guards to seize her also ; and 
her account of the ring differing from Bertram's, the king's 
suspicions were confirmed : and he said, if they did not 
confess how they came by this ring of Helena's, they 
should be both put to death. Diana requested her mother 
might be permitted to fetch the jeweller of whom she 
bought the ring, which being granted, the widow went out, 
and presently returned leading in Helena herself. 

The good countess, who in silent grief had beheld her 
son's danger, and had even dreaded that the suspicion of 
his having destroyed his wife might possibly be true, find- 
ing her dear Helena, whom she loved with even a maternal 
affection, was still living, felt a delight she was hardly 
able to support ; and the king, scarce believing for joy 
that it was Helena, said, " Is this indeed the wife of 
Bertram that I see ? " Helena, feeling herself yet an 
unacknowledged wife, replied, " No, my good lord, it is 
but the shadow of a wife you see, the name and not the 
thing." Bertram cried out, " Both, both ! O pardon ! " — 
" O my lord," said Helena, " when I personated this fair 
maid, I found you wondrous kind ; and look, here is your 
letter ! " reading to him in a joyful tone those words which 
she had once repeated so sorrowfully, When from viy 
finger you can get this ring, — "This is done; it was to 
me you gave the ring. Will you be mine, now you are 
doubly won ? " Bertram replied, " If you can make it 
plain that you were the lady I talked with that night, I 
will love you dearly ever, ever dearly." This was no diffi- 
cult task, for the widow and Diana came with Helena to 
prove this fact ; and the king was so well pleased with 
Diana, for the friendly assistance she had rendered the 
dear lady he so truly valued for the service she had clone 
him, that he promised her also a noble husband : Helena's 



206 Tales from Shakspeare 

history giving him a hint, that it was a suitable reward 
for kings to bestow upon fair ladies when they perform 
notable services. 

Thus Helena at last found that her father's legacy was 
indeed sanctified by the luckiest stars in heaven ; for she 
was now the beloved wife of her dear Bertram, the 
daughter-in-law of her noble mistress, and herself the 
countess of Rousillon. 




Hamlet. 



HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMA 7 

Gertrude, queen of Denmark, becoming a widow by the 
sudden death of king Hamlet, in less than two months after 
his death married his brother Claudius, which was noted 
by all people at the time for a strange act of indiscretion, 
or unfeelingness, or worse : for this Claudius did no ways 
resemble her late husband in the qualities of his person or 
his mind, but was as contemptible in outward appearance, 
as he was base and unworthy in disposition ; and suspicions 
did not fail to arise in the minds of some, that he had pri- 
vately made away with his brother, the late ki'< , with the 
view of marrying his widow, and ascending the throne of 
Denmark, to the exclusion of young Hamlet, the son of'the 
buried king, and lawful successor to tiie throne. 

But upon no one did this unadvisr 1 action of the queen 
make such impression as upon this young prince, who 
loved and venerated the memory of his dead father almost 
to idolatry, and being of a nice sense of honor, and a most 
exquisite practiser of propriety himself, did sorely take to 
heart this unworthy conduct of his mother Gertrude ; inso- 
much that, between grief for his father's death and shame 
for his mother's marriage, this young prince was over- 
clouded with a deep melancholy, and lost all his mirth and 
all his good looks ; all his customary pleasure in books for- 
sook him, his princely exercises and sports, proper to his 
youth, were no longer acceptable ; he grew weary of the 
world, which seemed to him an unweeded garden, where 
all the wholesome flowers were choked up, and nothing but 
weeds could thrive. Not that the prospect of exclusion 

211 



212 Tales from Shakspeare 

from the throne, his lawful inheritance, weighed so much 
upon his spirits, though that to a young and high-minded 
prince was a bitter wound and a sore indignity ; but what 
so galled him, and took away all his cheerful spirits, was, 
that his mother had shown herself so forgetful to his 
father's memory : and such a father ! who had been to her 
so loving and so gentle a husband ! and then she always 
appeared as loving and obedient a wife to him, and would 
hang upon him as if her affection grew to him : and now 
within two months, or as it seemed to young Hamlet, less 
than two months, she had married again, married his uncle, 
her dear husband's brother, in itself a highly improper and 
unlawful marriage, from the nearness of relationship, but 
made much more so by the indecent haste with which it 
was concluded, and the unkingly character of the man 
whom she had chosen to be the partner of her throne and 
bed. This it was, which more than the loss of ten king- 
doms, dashed the spirits and brought a cloud over the mind 
of this honorable young prince. 

In vain was all that his mother Gertrude or the king 
could do to contrive to divert him ; he still appeared in 
court in a suit of deep black, as mourning for the king his 
father's death, which mode of dress he had never laid aside, 
not even in compliment to his mother upon the day she 
was married, nor could he be brought to join in any of the 
festivities or rejoicings of that (as appeared to him) dis- 
graceful day. 

What mostly troubled him was an uncertainty about the 
manner of his father's death. It was given out by Claudius 
that a serpent had stung him ; but young Hamlet had 
shrewd suspicions that Claudius himself was the serpent ; 
in plain English, that he had murdered him for his crown, 
and that the serpent who stung his father did now sit on 
the throne. 



Hamlet 213 

How far he was right in this conjecture, and what he 
ought to think of his mother, how far she was privy to this 
murder, and whether by her consent or knowledge, or with- 
out, it came to pass, were the doubts which continually 
harassed and distracted him. 

A rumor had reached the ear of young Hamlet, that an 
apparition, exactly resembling the dead king his father, 
had been seen by the soldiers upon watch, on the platform 
before the palace at midnight, for two or three nights suc- 
cessively. The figure came constantly clad in the same 
suit of armor, from head to foot, which the dead king was 
known to have worn ; and they who saw it (Hamlet's bosom 
friend Horatio was one) agreed in their testimony as to the 
time and manner of its appearance : that it came just as 
the clock struck twelve ; that it looked pale, with a face 
more of sorrow than of anger ; that its beard was grisly, 
and the color a sable silvered, as they had seen it in his 
life-time : that it made no answer when they spoke to it ; 
yet once they thought it lifted up its head, and addressed 
itself to motion, as if it were about to speak ; but in that 
moment the morning cock crew, and it shrunk in haste 
away, and vanished out of their sight. 

The young prince, strangely amazed at their relation, 
which was too consistent and agreeing with itself to dis- 
believe, concluded that it was his father's ghost which they 
had seen, and determined to take his watch with the soldiers 
that night, that he might have a chance of seeing it ; for 
he reasoned with himself, that such an appearance did not 
come for nothing, but that the ghost had something to im- 
part, and though it had been silent hitherto, yet it would 
speak to him. And he waited with impatience for the 
coming of niirht. 

When night can. he took his stand with Horatio, and 
Marcellus, one of the guard, upon the platform, where this 



a 14 Tales from Shakspeare 

apparition was accustomed to walk : and it being a cold 
night, and the air unusually raw and nipping, Hamlet and 
Horatio and their companion fell into some talk about the 
coldness of the night, which was suddenly broken off by 
Horatio announcing that the ghost was coming. 

At the sight of his father's spirit, Hamlet was struck 
with a sudden surprise and fear. He at first called upon 
the angels and heavenly ministers to defend them, for he 
knew not whether it were a good spirit or bad ; whether it 
came for good or evil : but he gradually assumed more 
courage ; and his father (as it seemed to him) looked upon 
him so piteously, and as it were desiring to have conversa- 
tion with him, and did in all respects appear so like him- 
self as he was when he lived, that Hamlet could not help 
addressing him : he called him by his name, Hamlet, King, 
Father ! and conjured him that he would tell the reason 
why he had left his grave, where they had seen him quietly 
bestowed, to come again and visit the earth and the moon- 
light : and besought him that he would let them know if 
there was anything which they could do to give peace to 
his spirit. And the ghost beckoned to Hamlet, that he 
should go with him to some more removed place, where 
they might be alone ; and Horatio and Marcellus would 
have dissuaded the young prince from following it, for 
they feared lest it should be some evil spirit, who would 
tempt him to the neighboring sea, or to the top of some 
dreadful cliff, and there put on some horrible shape which 
might deprive the prince of his reason. But their counsels 
and entreaties could not alter Hamlet's determination, who 
cared too little about life to fear the losing of it; and as to 
his soul, he said, what could the spirit do to that, being a 
thing immortal as itself? And he felt as hardy as a lion, 
and bursting from them, who did all they could to hold 
him, he followed whithersoever the spirit led him. 



Hamlet 215 

And when they were alone together, the spirit broke 
silence, and told him that he was the ghost of Hamlet, his 
father, who had been cruelly murdered, and he told the 
manner of it ; that it was done by his own brother Clau- 
dius, Hamlet's uncle, as Hamlet had already but too much 
suspected, for the hope of succeeding to his bed and 
crown. That as he was sleeping in his garden, his cus- 
tom always in the afternoon, his treasonous brother stole 
upon him in his sleep, and poured the juice of poisonous 
henbane into his ears, which has such an antipathy to the 
life of man, that swift as quicksilver it courses through all 
the veins of the body, baking up the blood, and spreading 
a crustlike leprosy all over the skin : thus sleeping, by a 
brother's hand he was cut off at once from his crown, his 
queen, and his life : and he adjured Hamlet, if he did ever 
his dear father love, that he would revenge his foul mur- 
der. And the ghost lamented to his son, that his mother 
should so fall off from virtue, as to prove false to the 
wedded love of her first husband, and to marry his mur- 
derer ; but he cautioned Hamlet, howsoever he proceeded 
in his revenge against his wicked uncle, by no means to 
act any violence against the person of his mother, but to 
leave her to heaven, and to the stings and thorns of con- 
science. And Hamlet promised to observe the ghost's 
direction in all things, and the ghost vanished. 

And when Hamlet was left alone, he took up a solemn 
resolution, that all he had in his memory, all that he had 
ever learned by books or observation, should be instantly 
forgotten by him, and nothing live in his brain but the 
memory of what the ghost had told him, and enjoined him 
to do. And Hamlet related the particulars of the conver- 
sation which had passed to none but his dear friend Horatio ; 
and he enjoined both to him and Marcellus the strictest 
secrecy as to what they had seen that night. 



216 Tales from Shakspeare 

The terror which the sight of the ghost had left upon 
the senses of Hamlet, he being weak and dispirited before, 
almost unhinged his mind, and drove him beside his reason. 
And he, fearing that it would continue to have this effect, 
which might subject him to observation, and set his uncle 
upon his guard, if he suspected that he was meditating 
anything against him, or that Hamlet really knew more of 
his father's death than he professed, took up a strange 
resolution, from that time to counterfeit as if he were 
really and truly mad ; thinking that he would be less an 
object of suspicion when his uncle should believe him 
incapable of any serious project, and that his real pertur- 
bation of mind would be best covered and pass concealed 
under a disguise of pretended lunacy. 

From this time Hamlet affected a certain wildness and 
strangeness in his apparel, his speech, and behavior, and 
did so excellently counterfeit the madman, that the king 
and queen were both deceived, and not thinking his grief 
for his father's death a sufficient cause to produce such a 
distemper, for they knew not of the appearance of the 
ghost, they concluded that his malady was love, and they 
thought they had found out the object. 

Before Hamlet fell into the melancholy way which has 
been related, he had dearly loved a fair maid called Ophe- 
lia, the daughter of Polonius, the king's chief counsellor in 
affairs of state. He had sent her letters and rings, and 
made many tenders of his affection to her, and importuned 
her with love in honorable fashion : and she had given 
belief to his vows and importunities. But the melancholy 
which he fell into latterly had made him neglect her, and 
from the time he conceived the project of counterfeiting 
madness, he affected to treat her with unkindness, and a 
sort of rudeness : but she, good lady, rather than reproach 
him with being false to her, persuaded herself that it was 



Hamlet 



217 



nothing but the disease in his mind, and no settled unkind- 
ness, which had made him less observant of her than for- 
merly ; and she compared the faculties of his once noble 
mind and excellent understanding, impaired as they were 
with the deep melancholy that oppressed him, to sweet 
bells which in themselves are capable of most exquisite 
music, but when jangled out of tune, or rudely handled, 
produce only a harsh and unpleasing sound. 

Though the rough business which Hamlet had in hand, 
the revenging of his father's death upon his murderer, did 
not suit with the playful state of courtship, or admit of the 
society of so idle a passion as love now seemed to him, yet 
it could not hinder but that soft thoughts of his Ophelia 
would come between, and in one of these moments, when 
he thought that his treatment of this gentle lady had been 
unreasonably harsh, he wrote her a letter full of wild starts 
of passion, and in extravagant terms, such as agreed with 
his supposed madness, but mixed with some gentle touches 
of affection, which could not but show to this honored lady 
that a deep love for her yet lay at the bottom of his heart. 
He bade her to doubt the stars were fire, and to doubt that 
the sun did move, to doubt truth to be a liar, but never to 
doubt that he loved; with more of such extravagant phrases. 
This letter Ophelia dutifully showed to her father, and the 
old man thought himself bound to communicate it to the 
king and queen, who from that time supposed that the true 
cause of Hamlet's madness was love. And the queen 
wished that the good beauties of Ophelia might be the 
happy cause of his wildness, for so she hoped that her vir- 
tues might happily restore him to his accustomed way 
again, to both their honors. But Hamlet's malady lay 
deeper than she supposed, or than could be so cured. His 
father's ghost, which he had seen, still haunted his imagi- 
nation, and the sacred injunction to revenge his murder 



2i 8 Tales from Shakspeare 

gave him no rest till it was accomplished. Every hour of 
delay seemed to him a sin, and a violation of his father's 
commands. Yet how to compass the death of the king, 
surrounded as he constantly was with his guards, was no 
easy matter. Or if it had been, the presence of the queen, 
Hamlet's mother, who was generally with the king, was 
a restraint upon his purpose, which he could not break 
through. Besides, the very circumstance that the usurper 
was his mother's husband filled him with some remorse, 
and still blunted the edge of his purpose. The mere act 
of putting a fellow-creature to death was in itself odious 
and terrible to a disposition naturally so gentle as Hamlet's 
was. His very melancholy, and the dejection of spirits he 
had so long been in, produced an irresoluteness and waver- 
ing of purpose, which kept him from proceeding to extremi- 
ties. Moreover, he could not help having some scruples 
upon his mind, whether the spirit which he had seen was 
indeed his father, or whether it might not be the devil who 
he had heard has power to take any form he pleases, and 
who might have assumed his father's shape only to take 
advantage of his weakness and his melancholy, to drive 
him to the doing of so desperate an act as murder. And 
he determined that he would have more certain grounds to 
go upon than a vision, or apparition, which might be a 
delusion. 

While he was in this irresolute mind there came to the 
court certain players, in whom Hamlet formerly used to 
take delight, and particularly to hear one of them speak a 
tragical speech, describing the death of old Priam, king of 
Troy, with the grief of Hecuba his queen. Hamlet wel- 
comed his old friends, the players, and remembering how 
that speech had formerly given him pleasure, requested the 
player to repeat it ; which he did in so lively a manner, 
setting forth the cruel murder of the feeble old king, with 



Hamlet 219 

the destruction of his people and city by fire, and the mad 
grief of the old queen, running barefoot up and down the 
palace, with a poor clout upon that head where a crown 
had been, and with nothing but a blanket upon her loins, 
snatched up in haste, where she had worn a royal robe ; 
that not only it drew tears from all that stood by, who 
thought they saw the real scene, so lively was it repre- 
sented, but even the player himself delivered it with a 
broken voice and real tears. This put Hamlet upon think- 
ing, if that player could so work himself up to passion by 
a mere fictitious speech, to weep for one that he had never 
seen, for Hecuba, that had been dead so many hundred 
years, how dull was he, who having a real motive and cue 
for passion, a real king and a dear father murdered, was 
yet so little moved, that his revenge all this while had 
seemed to have slept in dull and muddy forgetful ness ! 
and while he meditated on actors and acting, and the 
powerful effects which a good play, represented to the 
life, has upon the spectator, he remembered the instance 
of some murderer, who seeing a murder on the stage, was 
by the mere force of the scene and resemblance of circum- 
stances so affected, that on the spot he confessed the 
crime which he had committed. And he determined that 
these players should play something like the murder of his 
father before his uncle, and he would watch narrowly what 
effect it might have upon him, and from his looks he would 
be able to gather with more certainty if he were the mur- 
derer or not. To this effect he ordered a play to be pre- 
pared, to the representation of which he invited the king 
and queen. 

The story of the play was of a murder done in Vienna 
upon a duke. The duke's name was Gonzago, his wife 
Baptista. The play showed how one Lucianus, a near 
relation to the duke, poisoned him in his garden for his 



220 Tales from Shakspeare 

estate, and how the murderer in a short time after got the 
love of Gonzago's wife. 

At the representation of this play, the king, who did not 
know the trap which was laid for him, was present, with 
his queen and the whole court : Hamlet sitting attentively 
near him to observe his looks. The play began with a 
conversation between Gonzago and his wife, in which the 
lady made many protestations of love, and of never marry- 
ing a second husband, if she should outlive Gonzago ; 
wishing she might be accursed if she ever took a second 
husband, and adding that no woman did so, but those 
wicked women who kill their first husbands. Hamlet 
observed the king his uncle change color at this expres- 
sion, and that it was as bad as wormwood both to him and 
to the queen. But when Lucianus, according to the story, 
came to poison Gonzago sleeping in the garden, the strong 
resemblance which it bore to his own wicked act upon the 
late king, his brother, whom he had poisoned in his gar- 
den, so struck upon the conscience of this usurper, that he 
was unable to sit out the rest of the play, but on a sudden 
calling for lights to his chamber, and affecting or partly 
feeling a sudden sickness, he abruptly left the theatre. 
The king being departed, the play was given over. Now 
Hamlet had seen enough to be satisfied that the words of 
the ghost were true, and no illusion ; and in a fit of gayety, 
like that which comes over a man who suddenly has some 
great doubt or scruple resolved, he swore to Horatio, that he 
would take the ghost's word for a thousand pounds. But 
before he could make up his resolution as to what measure 
of revenge he should take, now he was certainly informed 
that his uncle was his father's murderer, he was sent for by 
the queen, his mother, to a private conference in her closet. 

It was by desire of the king that the queen sent for 
Hamlet, that she might signify to her son how much his 



Hamlet 221 

late behavior had displeased them both ; and the king, 
wishing to know all that passed at that conference, and 
thinking that the too partial report of a mother might let 
slip some part of Hamlet's words, which it might much 
import the king to know, Polonius, the old counsellor of 
state, was ordered to plant himself behind the hangings in 
the queen's closet, where he might unseen hear all that 
passed. This artifice was particularly adapted to the dis- 
position of Polonius, who was a man grown old in crooked 
maxims and policies of state, and delighted to get at the 
knowledge of matters in an indirect and cunning way. 

Hamlet being come to his mother, she began to tax 
him in the roundest way with his actions and behavior, 
and she told him that he had given great offence to his 
father, meaning the king, his uncle, whom, because he had 
married her, she called Hamlet's father. Hamlet, sorely 
indignant that she should give so dear and honored a 
name as father seemed to him, to a wretch who was indeed 
no better than the murderer of his true father, with some 
sharpness replied, " Mother, you have much offended my 
fatJier!' The queen said that was but an idle answer. 
" As good as the question deserved," said Hamlet. The 
queen asked him if he had forgotten who it was he was 
speaking to? "Alas!" replied Hamlet, "I wish I could 
forget. You are the queen, your husband's brother's wife ; 
and you are my mother : I wish you were not what you 
are." "Nay, then," said the queen, "if you show me so 
little respect, I will set those to you that can speak," and 
was going to send the king or Polonius to him. But 
Hamlet would not let her go, now he had her alone, till he 
had tried if his words could not bring her to some sense of 
her wicked life ; and, taking her by the wrist, he held her 
fast, and made her sit down. She, affrighted at his ear- 
nest manner, and fearful lest in his lunacy he should do 



222 Tales from Shakspeare 

her a mischief, cried out ; and a voice was heard from 
behind the hangings, " Help, help, the queen ! " which 
Hamlet hearing, and verily thinking that it was the king 
himself there concealed, he drew his sword and stabbed at 
the place where the voice came from, as he would have 
stabbed a rat that ran there, till the voice ceasing, he con- 
cluded the person to be dead. But when he dragged 
forth the body, it was not the king, but Polonius, the old 
officious counsellor, that had planted himself as a spy 
behind the hangings. " Oh me ! " exclaimed the queen, 
" what a rash and bloody deed have you done ! " " A 
bloody deed, mother," replied Hamlet, " but not so bad as 
yours, who killed a king, and married his brother." Ham- 
let had gone too far to leave off here. He was now in the 
humor to speak plainly to his mother and he pursued it. 
And though the faults of parents are to be tenderly treated 
by their children, yet in the case of great crimes the son 
may have leave to speak even to his own mother with 
some harshness, so as that harshness is meant for her 
good, and to turn her from her wicked ways, and not done 
for the purpose of upbraiding. And now this virtuous 
prince did in moving terms represent to the queen the 
heinousness of her offence, in being so forgetful of the 
dead king, his father, as in so short a space of time to 
marry with his brother and reputed murderer ; such an act, 
as, after the vows which she had sworn to her first hus- 
band, was enough to make all vows of women suspected, 
and all virtue to be accounted hypocrisy, wedding con- 
tracts to be less than gamesters' oaths, and religion to be 
a mockery and a mere form of words. He said she had 
done such a deed, that the heavens blushed at it, and the 
earth was sick of her because of it. And he showed her 
two pictures, the one of the late king, her first husband, 
and the other of the present king, her second husband, 



Hamlet 



223 



and he bade her mark the difference ; what a grace was 
on the brow of his father, how like a god he looked ! the 
curls of Apollo, the forehead of Jupiter, the eye of Mars, 
and a posture like to Mercury newly alighted on some 
heaven-kissing hill ! this man, he said, had been her hus- 
band. And then he showed her whom she had got in his 
stead : how like a blight or a mildew he looked, for so he 
had blasted his wholesome brother. And the queen was 
sore ashamed that he should so turn her eyes inward upon 
her soul, which she now saw so black and deformed. And 
he asked her how she could continue to live with this man, 
and be a wife to him, who had murdered her first husband, 
and got the crown by as false means as a thief — and 
just as he spoke, the ghost of his father, such as he was 
in his lifetime, and such as he had lately seen it, entered 
the room, and Hamlet, in great terror, asked what it would 
have; and -the ghost said that it came to remind him of 
the revenge he had promised, which Hamlet seemed to 
have forgot ; and the ghost bade him speak to his mother, 
for the grief and terror she was in would else kill her. It 
then vanished, and was seen by none but Hamlet, neither 
could he by pointing to where it stood, or by any descrip- 
tion, make his mother perceive it ; who was terribly fright- 
ened all this while to hear him conversing, as it seemed 
to her, with nothing; and she imputed it to the disorder 
of his mind. But Hamlet begged her not to flatter her 
wicked soul in such a manner as to think that it was his mad- 
ness, and not her own offences, which had brought his 
father's spirit again on the earth. And he bade her feel his 
pulse, how temperately it beat, not like a madman's. And 
he begged of her with tears, to confess herself to heaven 
for what was past, and for the future to avoid the com- 
pany of the king, and be no more as a wife to him : and 
when she should show herself a mother to him, by respect- 



224 Tales from Shakspeare 

ing his father's memory, he would ask a blessing of her 
as a son. And she promising to observe his directions, 
the conference ended. 

And now Hamlet was at leisure to consider who it was 
that in his unfortunate rashness he had killed : and when 
he came to see that it was Polonius, the father of the lady 
Ophelia, whom he so dearly loved, he drew apart the dead 
body, and, his spirits being now a little quieter, he wept 
for what he had done. 

The unfortunate death of Polonius gave the king a pre- 
tence for sending Hamlet out of the kingdom. He would 
willingly have put him to death, fearing him as dangerous ; 
but he dreaded the people, who loved Hamlet, and the 
queen, who, with all her faults, doted upon the prince, her 
son. So this subtle king, under pretence of providing for 
Hamlet's safety, that he might not be called to account for 
Polonius' death, caused him to be conveyed on board a 
ship bound for England, under the care of two courtiers, 
by whom he despatched letters to the English court, which 
in that time was in subjection and paid tribute to Den- 
mark, requiring, for special reasons there pretended, that 
Hamlet should be put to death as soon as he landed on 
English ground. Hamlet, suspecting some treachery, in 
the night-time secretly got at the letters, and skilfully 
erasing his own name, he in the stead of it put in the 
names of those two courtiers, who had the charge of him, 
to be put to death: then sealing up the letters, he put them 
into their place again. Soon after the ship was attacked 
by pirates, and a sea-fight commenced ; in the course of 
which Hamlet, desirous to show his valor, with sword in 
hand singly boarded the enemy's vessel ; while his own 
ship, in a cowardly manner, bore away, and leaving him 
to his fate, the two courtiers made the best of their 
way to England, charged with those letters the sense of 



Hamlet 225 

which Hamlet had altered to their own deserved de- 
struction. 

The pirates, who had the prince in their power, showed 
themselves gentle enemies ; and knowing whom they had 
got prisoner, in the hope that the prince might do them a 
good turn at court in recompense for any favor they might 
show him, they set Hamlet on shore at the nearest port in 
Denmark. From that place Hamlet wrote to the king, 
acquainting him with the strange chance which had brought 
him back to his own country, and saying that on the next 
day he should present himself before his majesty. When 
he got home, a sad spectacle offered itself the first thing to 
his eyes. 

This was the funeral of the young and beautiful Ophelia, 
his once dear mistress. The wits of this young lady had 
begun to turn ever since her poor father's death. That 
he should die a violent death, and by the hands of the 
prince whom she loved, so affected this tender young 
maid, that in a little time she grew perfectly distracted, 
and would go about giving flowers away to the ladies of 
the court, and saying that they were for her father's burial, 
singing songs about love and about death, and sometimes 
such as had no meaning at all, as if she had no memory 
of what happened to her. There was a willow which grew 
slanting over a brook, and reflected its leaves on the stream. 
To this brook she came one day when she was unwatched, 
with garlands she had been making, mixed up of daisies 
and nettles, flowers and weeds together, and clambering 
up to hang her garland upon the boughs of the willow, a 
bough broke, and precipitated this fair young maid, gar- 
land, and all that she had gathered, into the water, where 
her clothes bore her up for a while, during which she 
chanted scraps of old tunes, like one insensible to her own 
distress, or as if she were a creature natural to that ele- 



226 Tales from Shakspeare 

ment : but long it was not before her garments, heavy 
with the wet, pulled her in from her melodious singing to 
a muddy and miserable death. It was the funeral of this 
fair maid which her brother Laertes was celebrating, the 
king and queen and whole court being present, when Ham- 
let arrived. He knew not what all this show imported, 
but stood on one side, not inclining to interrupt the cere- 
mony. He saw the flowers strewed upon her grave, as 
the custom was in maiden burials, which the queen herself 
threw in ; and as she threw them she said, " Sweets to the 
sweet ! I thought to have decked thy bride-bed, sweet 
maid, not to have strewed thy grave. Thou shouldst have 
been my Hamlet's wife." And he heard her brother wish 
that violets might spring from her grave : and he saw him 
leap into the grave all frantic with grief, and bid the attend- 
ants pile mountains of earth upon him, that he might be 
buried with her. And Hamlet's love for this fair maid 
came back to him, and he could not bear that a brother 
should show so much transport of grief, for he thought 
that he loved Ophelia better than forty thousand brothers. 
Then discovering himself, he leaped into the grave where 
Laertes was, all as frantic or more frantic than he, and 
Laertes knowing him to be Hamlet, who had been the 
cause of his father's and his sister's death, grappled him 
by the throat as an enemy, till the attendants parted them : 
and Hamlet, after the funeral, excused his hasty act in 
throwing himself into the grave as if to brave Laertes ; 
but he said he could not bear that any one should seem 
to outdo him in grief for the death of the fair Ophelia. 
And for the time these two noble youths seemed reconciled. 
But out of the grief and anger of Laertes for the death 
of his father and Ophelia, the king, Hamlet's wicked uncle, 
contrived destruction for Hamlet. He set on Laertes, 
under cover of peace and reconciliation, to challenge Ham- 



Hamlet 227 

let to a friendly trial of skill at fencing, which Hamlet 
accepting, a day was appointed to try the match. At this 
match all the court was present, and Laertes, by direction 
of the king, prepared a poisoned weapon. Upon this 
match great wagers were laid by the courtiers, as both 
Hamlet and Laertes were known to excel at this sword 
play ; and Hamlet taking up the foils chose one, not at all 
suspecting the treachery of Laertes, or being careful to 
examine Laertes' weapon, who, instead of a foil or blunted 
sword, which the laws of fencing require, made use of one 
with a point, and poisoned. At first Laertes did but play 
with Hamlet, and suffered him to gain some advantages, 
which the dissembling king magnified and extolled beyond 
measure, drinking to Hamlet's success, and wagering rich 
bets upon the issue: but after a few pauses, Laertes grow- 
ing warm made a deadly thrust at Hamlet with his poi- 
soned weapon, and gave him a mortal blow. Hamlet 
incensed, but not knowing the whole of the treachery, in 
the scuffle exchanged his own innocent weapon for Laer- 
tes' deadly one, and with a thrust of Laertes' own sword 
repaid Laertes home, who was thus justly caught in his 
own treaqhery. In this instant the queen shrieked out 
that she was poisoned. She had inadvertently drunk out of 
a bowl which the king had prepared for Hamlet, in case, 
that being warm in fencing, he should call for drink : into 
this the treacherous king had infused a deadly poison, to 
make sure of Hamlet, if Laertes had failed. He had for- 
gotten to warn the queen of the bowl, which she drank of, 
and immediately died, exclaiming with her last breath that 
she was poisoned. Hamlet suspecting some treachery, 
ordered the doors to be shut, while he sought it out. 
Laertes told him to seek no farther, for he was the traitor ; 
and feeling his life go away with the wound which Hamlet 
had given him, he made confession of the treachery he 



228 Tales from Shakspeare 

had used, and how he had fallen a victim to it : and he 
told Hamlet of the envenomed point, and said that Ham- 
let had not half an hour to live, for no medicine could cure 
him ; and begging forgiveness of Hamlet, he died, with 
his last words accusing the king of being the contriver of 
the mischief. When Hamlet saw his end draw near, there 
being yet some venom left upon the sword, he suddenly- 
turned upon his false uncle, and thrust the point of it to 
his heart, fulfilling the promise which he had made to his 
father's spirit, whose injunction was now accomplished, 
and his foul murder revenged upon the murderer. Then 
Hamlet, feeling his breath fail and life departing, turned 
to his dear friend Horatio, who had been spectator of this 
fatal tragedy ; and with his dying breath requested him 
that he would live to tell his story to the world (for Hora- 
tio had made a motion as if he would slay himself to accom- 
pany the prince in death), and Horatio promised that he 
would make a true report, as one that was privy to all the 
circumstances. And, thus satisfied, the noble heart of 
Hamlet cracked ; and Horatio and the bystanders with 
many tears commended the spirit of this sweet prince to 
the guardianship of angels. For Hamlet was a loving and a 
gentle prince, and greatly beloved for his many noble and 
princelike qualities ; and if he had lived, would no doubt 
have proved a most royal and complete king to Denmark. 




Othello 



OTHELLO 

Brabantio, the rich senator of Venice, had a fair 
daughter, the gentle Desdemona. She was sought to by 
divers suitors, both on account of her many virtuous quali- 
ties, and for her rich expectations. But among the suitors 
of her own clime and complexion, she saw none whom she 
could affect: for this noble lady, who regarded the mind 
more than the features of men, with a singularity rather 
to be admired than imitated, had chosen for the object of 
her affections, a Moor, a black, whom, her father loved, and 
often invited to his house. 

Neither is Desdemona to be altogether condemned for 
the unsuitableness of the person whom she selected for 
her lover. Bating that Othello was black, the noble Moor 
wanted nothing which might recommend him to the affec- 
tions of the greatest lady. He was a soldier, and a brave 
one ; and by his conduct in bloody wars against the Turks, 
had risen to the rank of general in the Venetian service, 
and was esteemed and trusted by the state. 

He had been a traveller, and Desdemona (as is the 
manner of ladies) loved to hear him tell the story of his 
adventures, which he would run through from his earliest 
recollection ; the battles, sieges, and encounters, which he 
had passed through ; the perils he had been exposed to 
by land and by water ; his hair-breadth escapes, when he 
had entered a breach, or marched up to the mouth of a 
cannon ; and how he had been taken prisoner by the inso- 
lent enemy, and sold to slavery ; how he demeaned him- 
self in that state, and how he escaped : all these accounts, 

231 



131 Tales from Shakspeare 

added to the narration of the strange things he had seen 
in foreign countries, the vast wilderness and romantic cav- 
erns, the quarries, the rocks and mountains, whose heads 
are in the clouds ; of the savage nations, the cannibals 
who are man-eaters, and a race of people in Africa whose 
heads do grow beneath their shoulders : these travellers' 
stories would so enchain the attention of Desdemona, that 
if she were called off at any time by household affairs, she 
would despatch with all haste that business, and return, 
and with a greedy ear devour Othello's discourse. And 
once he took advantage of a pliant hour, and drew from 
her a prayer, that he would tell her the whole story of his 
life at large, of which she had heard so much, but only by 
parts : to which he consented, and beguiled her of many 
a tear, when he spoke of some distressful stroke which his 
youth had suffered. 

His story being done, she gave him for his pains a 
world of sighs : she swore a pretty oath, that it was all 
passing strange, and pitiful, wondrous pitiful : she wished 
(she said) she had not heard it, yet she wished that heaven 
had made her such a man ; and then she thanked him, and 
told him, if he had a friend who loved her, he had only to 
teach him how to tell his story, and that would woo her. 
Upon this hint, delivered not with more frankness than 
modesty, accompanied with certain bewitching prettiness, 
and blushes, which Othello could not but understand, he 
spoke more openly of his love, and in this golden oppor- 
tunity gained the consent of the generous lady Desde- 
mona privately to marry him. 

Neither Othello's color nor his fortune were such that 
it could be hoped Brabantio would accept him for a son-in- 
law. He had left his daughter free ; but he did expect 
that, as the manner of noble Venetian ladies was, she 
would choose ere long a husband of senatorial rank or 



Othello 233 

expectations ; but in this he was deceived ; Desdemona 
loved the Moor, though he was black, and devoted her 
heart and fortunes to his valiant parts and qualities ; so 
was her heart subdued to an implicit devotion to the man 
she had selected for a husband, that his very color, which 
to all but this discerning lady would have proved an insur- 
mountable objection, was by her esteemed above all the 
white skins and clear complexions of the young Venetian 
nobility, her suitors. 

Their marriage, which, though privately carried, could 
not long be kept a secret, came to the ears of the old man, 
Brabantio, who appeared in a solemn council of the senate, 
as an accuser of the Moor Othello, who by spells and witch- 
craft (he maintained) had seduced the affections of the fair 
Desdemona to marry him, without the consent of her 
father, and against the obligations of hospitality. 

At this juncture of time it happened that the state of 
Venice had immediate need of the services of Othello, 
news having arrived that the Turks with mighty prepara- 
tion had fitted out a fleet, which was bending its course to 
the island of Cyprus, with intent to regain that strong post 
from the Venetians, who then held it ; in this emergency 
the state turned its eyes upon Othello, who alone was 
deemed adequate to conduct the defence of Cyprus against 
the Turks. So that Othello, now summoned before the 
senate, stood in their presence at once as a candidate for 
a great state employment, and as a culprit, charged with 
offences which by the laws of Venice were made capital. 

The age and senatorial character of old Brabantio com- 
manded a most patient hearing from that grave assembly ; 
but the incensed father conducted his accusation with so 
much intemperance, producing likelihoods and allegations 
for proofs, that, when Othello was called upon for his 
defence, he had only to relate a plain tale of the course of 



234 Tales from Shakspeare 

his love ; which he did with such an artless eloquence, 
recounting the whole story of his wooing, as we have 
related it above, and delivered his speech with so noble a 
plainness (the evidence of truth) , that the duke, who sat as 
chief judge, could not help confessing that a tale so told 
would have won his daughter too : and the spells and con- 
jurations which Othello had used in his courtship, plainly 
appeared to have been no more than the honest arts of men 
in love ; and the only witchcraft which he had used, the 
faculty of telling a soft tale to win a lady's ear. 

This statement of Othello was confirmed by the testi- 
mony of the lady Desdemona herself, who appeared in court, 
and professing a duty to her father for life and education, 
challenged leave of him to profess a yet higher duty to her 
lord and husband, even so much as her mother had shown 
in preferring him (Brabantio) above her father. 

The old senator, unable to maintain his plea, called the 
Moor to him with many expressions of sorrow, and, as an 
act of necessity, bestowed upon him his daughter, whom, 
if he had been free to withhold her (he told him), he would 
with all his heart have kept from him ; adding, that he was 
glad at soul that he had no other child, for this behavior 
of Desdemona would have taught him to be a tyrant, and 
hang clogs on them for her desertion. 

This difficulty being got over, Othello, to whom custom 
had rendered the hardships of a military life as natural as 
food and rest are to other men, readily undertook the man- 
agement of the wars in Cyprus : and Desdemona, prefer- 
ring the honor of her lord (though with danger) before the 
indulgence of those idle delights in which new-married 
people usually waste their time, cheerfully consented to 
his going. 

No sooner were Othello and his lady landed in Cyprus, 
than news arrived, that a desperate tempest had dispersed 



Othello 235 

the Turkish fleet, and thus the island was secure from any 
immediate apprehension of an attack. But the war, which 
Othello was to suffer, was now beginning ; and the enemies, 
which malice stirred up against his innocent lady, proved 
in their nature more deadly than strangers or infidels. 

Among all the general's friends no one possessed the 
confidence of Othello more entirely than Cassio. Michael 
Cassio was a young soldier, a Florentine, gay, amorous, 
and of pleasing address, favorite qualities with women ; 
he was handsome and eloquent, and exactly such a person 
as might alarm the jealousy of a man advanced in years (as 
Othello in some measure was), who had married a young 
and beautiful wife : but Othello was as free from jealousy 
as he was noble, and as incapable of suspecting as of doing 
a base action. He had employed this Cassio in his love 
affair with Desdemona, and Cassio had been a sort of go- 
between in his suit : for Othello, fearing that himself had 
not those soft parts of conversation which please ladies, 
and finding these qualities in his friend, would often depute 
Cassio to go (as he phrased it) a courting for him : such 
innocent simplicity being rather an honor than a blemish 
to the character of the valiant Moor. So that no wonder, 
if next to Othello himself (but at far distance, as beseems 
a virtuous wife) the gentle Desdemona loved and trusted 
Cassio. Nor had the marriage of this couple made any 
difference in their behavior to Michael Cassio. He fre- 
quented their house, and his free and rattling talk was no 
unpleasing variety to Othello, who was himself of a more 
serious temper : for such tempers are observed often to 
delight in their contraries, as a relief from the oppressive 
excess of their own : and Desdemona and Cassio would 
talk and laugh together, as in the days when he went a 
courting for his friend. 

Othello had lately promoted Cassio to be the lieutenant, 



136 Tales from Shakspeare 

a place of trust, and nearest to the general's person. This 
promotion gave great offence to Iago, an older officer who 
thought he had a better claim than Cassio, and would often 
ridicule Cassio as a fellow fit only for the company of ladies, 
and one that knew no more of the art of war or how to set 
an army in array for battle, than a girl. Iago hated Cassio, 
and he hated Othello, as well for favoring Cassio, as for 
an unjust suspicion, which he had lightly taken up against 
Othello, that the Moor was too fond of lago's wife Emilia. 
From these imaginary provocations, the plotting mind of 
Iago conceived a horrid scheme of revenge, which should 
involve both Cassio, the Moor, and Desdemona, in one 
common ruin. 

Iago was artful, and had studied human nature deeply, 
and he knew that of all the torments which afflict the mind 
of man (and far beyond bodily torture), the pains of jeal- 
ousy were the most intolerable, and had the sorest sting. 
If he could succeed in making Othello jealous of Cassio, 
he thought it would be an exquisite plot of revenge, and 
might end in the death of Cassio or Othello, or both ; he 
cared not. 

The arrival of the general and his lady in Cyprus, meet- 
ing with the news of the dispersion of the enemy's fleet, 
made a sort of holiday in the island. Everybody gave 
themselves up to feasting and making merry. Wine 
flowed in abundance, and cups went round to the health 
of the black Othello, and his lady the fair Desdemona. 

Cassio had the direction of the guard that night, with a 
charge from Othello to keep the soldiers from excess in 
drinking, that no brawl might arise, to fright the inhabit- 
ants, or disgust them with the new-landed forces. That 
night Iago began his deep-laid plans of mischief : under 
color of loyalty and love to the general, he enticed Cassio 
to make rather too free with the bottle (a great fault of an 



Othello 237 

officer upon guard). Cassio for a time resisted, but he 
could not long hold out against the honest freedom which 
I ago knew how to put on, but kept swallowing glass after 
glass (as Iago still plied him with drink and encouraging 
songs), and Cassio's tongue ran over in praise of the lady 
Desdemona, whom he again and again toasted, affirming 
that she was a most exquisite lady : until at last the enemy 
which he put into his mouth stole away his brains ; and upon 
some provocation given him by a fellow whom Iago had 
set on, swords were drawn, and Montano, a worthy officer, 
who interfered to appease the dispute, was wounded in the 
scuffle. The riot now began to be general, and Iago, who 
had set on foot the mischief, was foremost in spreading 
the alarm, causing the castle-bell to be rung (as if some 
dangerous mutiny instead of a slight drunken quarrel had 
arisen) : the alarm-bell ringing awakened Othello, who, 
dressing in a hurry, and coming to the scene of action, 
questioned Cassio of the cause. Cassio was now come to 
himself, the effect of the wine having a little gone off, but 
was too much ashamed to reply ; and Iago, pretending a 
great reluctance to accuse Cassio, but, as it were, forced 
into it by Othello, who insisted to know the truth, gave an 
account of the whole matter (leaving out his own share in 
it, which Cassio was too far gone to remember) in such a 
manner, as while he seemed to make Cassio's offence less, 
did indeed make it appear greater than it was. The 
result was, that Othello, who was a strict observer of dis- 
cipline, was compelled to take away Cassio's place of 
lieutenant from him. 

Thus did Iago's first artifice succeed completely; he had 
now undermined his hated rival, and thrust him out of his 
place : but a further use was hereafter to be made of the 
adventure of this disastrous night. 

Cassio, whom this misfortune had entirely sobered, now 



238 Tales from Shakspeare 

lamented to his seeming friend Iago that he should have 
been such a fool as to transform himself into a beast. He 
was undone, for how could he ask the general for his place 
again ? he would tell him he was a drunkard. He de- 
spised himself. Iago, affecting to make light of it, said, 
that he, or any man living, might be drunk upon occa- 
sion ; it remained now to make the best of a bad bargain ; 
the general's wife was now the general, and could do any- 
thing with Othello ; that he were best to apply to the lady 
Desdemona to mediate for him with her lord ; that she was 
of a frank, obliging disposition, and would readily under- 
take a good office of this sort, and set Cassio right again 
in the general's favor ; and then this crack in their love 
would be made stronger than ever. A good advice of 
Iago, if it had not been given for wicked purposes, which 
will after appear. 

Cassio did as Iago advised him, and made application to 
the lady Desdemona, who was easy to be won over in any 
honest suit; and she promised Cassio that she should be 
his solicitor with her lord, and rather die than give up his 
cause. This she immediately set about in so earnest and 
pretty a manner, that Othello, who was mortally offended 
with Cassio, could not put her off. When he pleaded 
delay, and that it was too soon to pardon such an offender, 
she would not be beat back, but insisted that it should be 
the next night, or the morning after, or the next morning 
to that at farthest. Then she showed how penitent and 
humbled poor Cassio was, and that his offence did not 
deserve so sharp a check. And when Othello still hung 
back, "What! my lord," said she, "that I should have so 
much to do to plead for Cassio, Michael Cassio, that came 
a courting for you, and oftentimes, when I have spoken in 
dispraise of you, has taken your part ! I count this but a 
little thing to ask of you. When I mean to try your love 



Othello 239 

indeed, I shall ask a weighty matter." Othello could deny- 
nothing to such a pleader, and only requesting that Desde- 
mona would leave the time to him, promised to receive 
Michael Cassio again in favor. 

It happened that Othello and Iago had entered into the 
room where Desdemona was, just as Cassio, who had been 
imploring her intercession, was departing at the opposite 
door: and Iago, who was full of art, said in a low voice, 
as if to himself, " I like not that." Othello took no great 
notice of what he said ; indeed, the conference which im- 
mediately took place with his lady put it out of his head ; 
but he remembered it afterwards. For when Desdemona 
was gone, Iago, as if for mere satisfaction of his thought, 
questioned Othello whether Michael Cassio, when Othello 
was courting his lady, knew of his love. To this the gen- 
eral answering in the affirmative, and adding, that he had 
gone between them very often during the courtship, Iago 
knitted his brow, as if he had got fresh light on some ter- 
rible matter, and cried, " Indeed ! " This brought into 
Othello's mind the words which Iago had let fall upon 
entering the room, and seeing Cassio with Desdemona ; 
and he began to think there was some meaning in all this : 
for he deemed Iago to be a just man, and full of love and 
honesty, and what in a false knave would be tricks, in him 
seemed to be the natural workings of an honest mind, 
big with something too great for utterance : and Othello 
prayed Iago to speak what he knew, and to give his 
worst thoughts words. "And what," said Iago, "if some 
thoughts very vile should have intruded into my breast, as 
where is the palace into which foul things do not enter ? " 
Then Iago went on to say, what a pity it were, if any 
trouble should arise to Othello out of his imperfect obser- 
vation ; that it would not be for Othello's peace to know 
his thoughts ; that people's good names were not to be 



240 Tales from Shakspeare 

taken away for slight suspicions ; and when Othello's 
curiosity was raised almost to distraction with these hints 
and scattered words, Iago, as if in earnest care for Othel- 
lo's peace of mind, besought him to beware of jealousy: 
with such art did this villain raise suspicions in the un- 
guarded Othello, by the very caution which he pretended 
to give him against suspicion. " I know," said Othello, 
"that my wife is fair, loves company and feasting, is free 
of speech, sings, plays, and dances well ; but where virtue 
is, these qualities are virtuous. I must have proof before 
I think her dishonest." Then Iago, as if glad that Othello 
was slow to believe ill of his lady, frankly declared that he 
had no proof, but begged Othello to observe her behav- 
ior well, when Cassio was by ; not to be jealous nor too 
secure neither, for that he (Iago) knew the dispositions of 
the Italian ladies, his countrywomen, better than Othello 
could do ; and that in Venice the wives let heaven see 
many pranks they dared not show their husbands. Then 
he artfully insinuated that Desdemona deceived her father 
in marrying with Othello, and carried it so closely, that 
the poor old man thought that witchcraft had been used. 
Othello was much moved with this argument, which brought 
the matter home to him, for if she had deceived her father, 
why might she not deceive her husband ? 

Iago begged pardon for having moved him ; but Othello, 
assuming an indifference, while he was really shaken with 
inward grief at Iago's words, begged him to go on, which 
Iago did with many apologies, as if unwilling to produce 
anything against Cassio, whom he called his friend : he 
then came strongly to the point, and reminded Othello how 
Desdemona had refused many suitable matches of her own 
clime and complexion, and had married him, a Moor, which 
showed unnatural in her, and proved her to have a head- 
strong will; and when her better judgment returned, how 



Othello 241 

probable it was she should fall upon comparing Othello 
with the fine forms and clear white complexions of the 
young Italians, her countrymen. He concluded with 
advising Othello to put off his reconcilement with Cassio 
a little longer, and in the meanwhile to note with what 
earnestness Desdemona should intercede in his behalf ; 
for that much would be seen in that. So mischievously 
did this artful villain lay his plots to turn the gentle 
qualities of this innocent lady into her destruction, and 
make a net for her out of her own goodness to entrap her : 
first setting Cassio on to entreat her mediation, and then 
out of that very mediation contriving stratagems for her 
ruin. 

The conference ended with Iago's begging Othello to 
account his wife innocent, until he had more decisive proof; 
and Othello promised to be patient ; but from that moment 
the deceived Othello never tasted content of mind. Poppy, 
nor the juice of mandragora, nor all the sleeping potions 
in the world, could ever again restore to him that sweet 
rest, which he had enjoyed but yesterday. His occupation 
sickened upon him. He no longer took delight in arms. 
His heart, that used to be roused at the sight of troops, 
and banners, and battle-array, and would stir and leap at 
the sound of a drum, or a trumpet, or a neighing war-horse, 
seemed to have lost all that pride and ambition which are 
a soldier's virtue ; and his military ardor and all his old 
joys forsook him. Sometimes he thought his wife hon- 
est, and at times he thought her not so ; sometimes he 
thought Iago just, and at times he thought him not so ; 
then he would wish that he had never known of it ; he 
was not the worse for her loving Cassio, so long as he 
knew it not : torn to pieces with these distracting thoughts, 
he once laid hold on Iago's throat, and demanded proof of 
Desdemona's guilt, or threatened instant death for his hav- 



242 Tales from Shakspeare 

ing belied her. Iago, feigning indignation that his honesty- 
should be taken for a vice, asked Othello, if he had not 
sometimes seen a handkerchief spott.ed with strawberries 
in his wife's hand. Othello answered, that he had given 
her such a one, and that it was his first gift. " That same 
handkerchief," said Iago, " did I see Michael Cassio this 
day wipe his face with." " If it be as you say," said 
Othello, " I will not rest till a wide revenge swallow them 
up : and first, for a token of your fidelity, I expect that 
Cassio shall be put to death within three days ; and for 
that fair devil (meaning his lady), I will withdraw and 
devise some swift means of death for her." 

Trifles light as air are to the jealous proofs as strong as 
holy writ. A handkerchief of his wife's seen in Cassio's 
hand, was motive enough to the deluded Othello to pass 
sentence of death upon them both, without once inquiring 
how Cassio came by it. Desdemona had never given such 
a present to Cassio, nor would this constant lady have 
wronged her lord with doing so naughty a thing as giving 
his presents to another man ; both Cassio and Desdemona 
were innocent of any offence against Othello : but the 
wicked Iago, whose spirits never slept in contrivance of 
villany, had made his wife (a good, but a weak woman) 
steal this handkerchief from Desdemona, under pretence 
of getting the work copied, but in reality to drop it in 
Cassio's way, where he might find it, and give a handle to 
Iago's suggestion that it was Desdemona's present. 

Othello, soon after meeting his wife, pretended that he 
had a headache (as he might indeed with truth), and 
desired her to lend him her handkerchief to hold to his 
temples. She did so. "Not this," said Othello, "but 
that handkerchief I gave you." Desdemona had it not 
about her (for indeed it was stolen, as we have related). 
"How?" said Othello, "this is a fault indeed. That 



Othello 243 

handkerchief an Egyptian woman gave to my mother ; 
the woman was a witch and could read people's thoughts : 
she told my mother, while she kept it, it would make her 
amiable, and my father would love her ; but if she lost it, 
or gave it away, my father's fancy would turn, and he 
would loathe her as much as he had loved her. She dying 
gave it to me, and bade me, if I ever married, to give it to 
my wife. I did so ; take heed of it. Make it a darling 
as precious as your eye." " Is it possible?" said the 
frighted lady. "'Tis true;" continued Othello; "it is a 
magical handkerchief; a sibyl that had lived in the world 
two hundred years, in a fit of prophetic fury worked it ; 
the silkworms that furnished the silk were hallowed, and 
it was dyed in a mummy of maidens' hearts conserved." 
Desdemona, fearing the wondrous virtues of the handker- 
chief, was ready to die with fear, for she plainly perceived 
she had lost it, and with it, she feared, the affections of 
her husband. Then Othello started, and looked as if he 
were going to do some rash thing, and still he demanded 
the handkerchief, which when she could not produce, she 
tried to divert her husband from too serious thoughts, and 
cheerfully told him she saw all his talk about the handker- 
chief was only to put her off from her suit about Michael 
Cassio, whom she went on to praise (as Iago had foretold), 
till Othello in perfect distraction burst out of the room, 
and then Desdemona, though unwillingly, began to sus- 
pect that her lord was jealous. 

What cause she could have ministered to him she knew 
not, and then she accused herself for accusing the noble 
Othello, and thought to be sure that some untoward news 
from Venice, or some state troubles had puddled his spirits, 
and made his temper not so sweet as formerly. And she 
said, " Men are not gods, and we must not look for that 
observance from them when they are married, which they 



244 Tales from Shakspeare 

show us on the bridal day." And she beshrewed herself 
for so unkindly judging of his unkindness. 

Again Othello and Desdemona met, and he accused her 
more plainly of being unfaithful, and of loving another 
man, but he did not name whom ; and Othello wept, and 
Desdemona said, " Alas ! the heavy day ! why do you 
weep?" And Othello told her, he could have borne all 
sorts of evils with fortitude — poverty, and disease, and 
disgrace ; but her infidelity had broken his heart ; and he 
called her a weed, that looked so fair, and smelled so sweet, 
that the sense ached at it ; and wished she had never been 
born.AAnd when he had left her, this innocent lady was 
stupefied with wonder at her lord's untrue suspicion of her, 
that a weightlike sleep came over her, and she only desired 
her attendant to make her bed, and to lay her wedding- 
sheets upon it, saying, that when people teach their babes, 
they do it by gentle means and easy tasks, and Othello 
might have chid her so ; for in good faith she was but a 
child when she was chidden. And this was all the com- 
plaint which this gentle lady made. 

Desdemona being retired to bed expecting her lord 
would follow her, soon fell into a slumber, the effect of 
her troubled spirits, when Othello entered the chamber, 
full of the black purpose which he had meditated of put- 
ting his lady to death. But when he saw her asleep, he 
thought he would not shed her blood, nor scar that white 
skin of hers, more whiter than alabaster. But he was 
resolved she should die ; else (as he said), she would live 
to betray more men, as she had done him. Then he kissed 
her for the last time (as he said), and that kiss was so 
sweet that he must needs kiss her again : and he wept, 
but he said they were cruel tears. 

Desdemona was awakened with his kisses, and she 
looked upon Othello, and she saw him gnaw his under lip, 



Othello 245 

and roll his eyes, and she knew he was always fatal when 
he looked so : and he bade her prepare for death, and to 
say her prayers, for he would not kill her soul. And this 
innocent wife, as she lay at his mercy, begged for compas- 
sion, and to know her fault, and then he named Cassio, 
and the handkerchief which (he said) she had given him ; 
and as the guiltless lady was proceeding to clear herself 
he suddenly would hear no more, but covering her up in 
the bed-clothes, stifled her till she died. 

In this instant of time was brought into the house 
Cassio, wounded and bleeding, whom I ago had set one of 
his creatures on to assassinate ; but the fellow not succeed- 
ing in his attempt to kill Cassio (whom he wounded, but 
not mortally), and being himself killed by Iago, to pre- 
vent discovery, in his pockets were found certain letters, 
which made the guilt of Iago, and the innocence of Cassio, 
clear beyond all doubt ; and Cassio now came to beg par- 
don of Othello, and to ask wherein he had offended him, 
that he had employed Iago to murder him. 

This discovery was as a thunderstroke to Othello, who 
now plainly saw that he was no better than a murderer, 
and that his wife (poor innocent lady) had been ever faith- 
ful to him ; the extreme anguish of which discovery mak- 
ing life insupportable, he fell upon his sword, and throwing 
himself upon the body of his dear injured lady, expired. 

These rash acts raised much passion of horror and 
amazement in the bystanders, for Othello had borne a fair 
reputation, and until he was wrought upon by the arts of 
a villain, which his own noble nature never gave him leave 
to suspect, he was a loving and a doting husband. He 
had loved not wisely, but too well; and his manly eyes 
(when he learned his mistake), though not used to weep 
on every small occasion, dropped tears as fast as the Ara- 
bian trees their gum. And when he was dead all his for- 



246 Tales from Shakspeare 

mer merits and his valiant acts were remembered. Nothing 
now remained for his successor but to put the utmost cen- 
sure of the law in force against Iago, who was executec 1 
with strict tortures ; and to send word to the state of Ven- 
ice of the lamentable death of their renowned general. 




Romeo and Juliet 



ROMEO AND JULIET 

The two chief families in Verona were the rich Capu- 
lets and the Montagues. There had been an old quarrel 
between these families, which was grown to such a height, 
and so deadly was the enmity between them, that it 
extended to the remotest kindred, to the followers and 
retainers of both sides, insomuch that a servant of the 
house of Montague could not meet a servant of the house 
of Capulet, nor a Capulet encounter with a Montague by 
chance, but fierce words and sometimes bloodshed ensued ; 
and frequent were the brawls from such accidental meet- 
ings, which disturbed the happy quiet of Verona's streets. 

Old lord Capulet made a great supper, to which many 
fair ladies and many noble guests were invited. All the 
admired beauties of Verona were present, and all comers 
were made welcome if they were not of the house of Mon- 
tague. At. this feast of Capulets, Rosaline, beloved of 
Romeo, son to the old lord Montague, was present ; and 
though it was dangerous for a Montague to be seen in this 
assembly, yet Benvolio, a friend of Romeo, persuaded the 
young lord to go to this assembly in the disguise of a 
mask, that he might see his Rosaline, and seeing her, com- 
pare her with some choice beauties of Verona, who (he 
said) would make him think his swan a crow. Romeo had 
small faith in Benvolio's words ; nevertheless, for the love 
of Rosaline, he was persuaded to go. For Romeo was a 
sincere and passionate lover, and one that lost his sleep for 
love, and fled society to be alone, thinking on Rosaline, 
who disdained him, and never requited his love with the 

249 



250 Tales from Shakspeare 

least show of courtesy or affection ; and Benvolio wished 
to cure his friend of this love by showing him diversity of 
ladies and company. To this feast of Capulets then young 
Romeo with Benvolio and their friend Mercutio went 
masked. Old Capulet bid them welcome, and told them 
that ladies who had their toes unplagued with corns would 
dance with them. And the old man was light-hearted and 
merry, and said that he had worn a mask when he was 
young, and could have told a whispering tale in a fair 
lady's ear. And they fell to dancing, and Romeo was 
suddenly struck with the exceeding beauty of a lady who 
danced there, who seemed to him to teach the torches 
to burn bright, and her beauty to show by night like a rich 
jewel worn by a blackamoor ; beauty too rich for use, too 
dear for earth ! like a snowy dove trooping with crows (he 
said), so richly did her beauty and perfections shine above 
the ladies her companions. While he uttered these praises, 
he was overheard by Tybalt, a nephew of lord Capulet, 
who knew him by his voice to be Romeo. And this 
Tybalt, being of a fiery and passionate temper, could not 
endure that a Montague should come under cover of a 
mask, to fleer and scorn (as he said) at their solemnities. 
And he stormed and raged exceedingly, and would have 
struck young Romeo dead. But his uncle, the old lord 
Capulet, would not suffer him to do any injury at that 
time, both out of respect to his guests, and because Romeo 
had borne himself like a gentleman, and all tongues in 
Verona bragged of him to be a virtuous and well-governed 
youth. Tybalt, forced to be patient against his will, re- 
strained himself, but swore that this vile Montague should 
at another time dearly pay for his intrusion. 

The dancing being done, Romeo watched the place 
where the lady stood : and under favor of his masking 
habit, which might seem to excuse in part the liberty, he 



Romeo and Juliet 251 

presumed in the gentlest manner to take her by the hand, 
calling it a shrine, which if he profaned by touching it, he 
was a blushing pilgrim, and would kiss it for atonement. 
"Good pilgrim," answered the lady, "your devotion shows 
by far too mannerly and too courtly : saints have hands, 
which pilgrims may touch, but kiss not." — "Have not 
saints lips, and pilgrims too?" said Romeo. " Ay," said 
the lady, " lips which they must use in prayer." — " O then, 
my dear saint," said Romeo, "hear my prayer, and grant 
it, lest I despair." In such like illusions and loving con- 
ceits they were engaged, when the lady was called away 
to her mother. And Romeo inquiring who her mother 
was, discovered that the lady whose peerless beauty he 
was so much struck with, was young Juliet, daughter and 
heir to the lord Capulet, the great enemy of the Mon- 
tagues ; and that he had unknowingly engaged his heart 
to his foe. This troubled him, but it could not dissuade 
him from loving. As little rest had Juliet, when she found 
that the gentleman that she had been talking with was 
Romeo and a Montague, for she had been suddenly smit 
with the same hasty and inconsiderate passion for Romeo, 
which he had conceived for her ; and a prodigious birth of 
love it seemed to her, that she must love her enemy, and 
that her affections should settle there, where family con- 
siderations should induce her chiefly to hate. 

It being midnight, Romeo with his companions departed ; 
but they soon missed him, for, unable to stay away from the 
house where he had left his heart, he leaped the wall of 
an orchard which was at the back of Juliet's house. Here 
he had not been long, ruminating on his new love, when 
Juliet appeared above at a window, through which her ex- 
ceeding beauty seemed to break like the light of the sun in 
the east ; and the moon, which shone in the orchard with 
a faint light, appeared to Romeo as if sick and pale with 



252 Tales from Shakspeare 

grief at the superior lustre of this new sun. And she 
leaning her cheek upon her hand, he passionately wished 
himself a glove upon that hand, that he might touch her 
cheek. She all this while thinking herself alone, fetched 
a deep sigh, and exclaimed, " Ah me!" Romeo, enrap- 
tured to hear her speak, said softly, and unheard by her, 
" O speak again, bright angel, for such you appear, being 
over my head, like a winged messenger from heaven whom 
mortals fall back to gaze upon." She, unconscious of 
being overheard, and full of the new passion which that 
night's adventure had given birth to, called upon her lover 
by name (whom she supposed absent) : " O Romeo, 
Romeo!" said she, " wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny 
thy father, and refuse thy name, for my sake ; or if thou 
wilt not, be but my sworn love, and I no longer will be a 
Capulet." Romeo, having this encouragement, would 
fain have spoken, but he was desirous of hearing more ; » 
and the lady continued her passionate discourse with her- 
self (as she thought), still chiding Romeo for being Romeo 
and a Montague, and wishing him some other name, or 
that he would put away that hated name, and for that 
name which was no part of himself, he should take all 
herself. At this loving word Romeo could no longer 
refrain, but taking up the dialogue as if her words had 
been addressed to him personally, and not merely in fancy, 
he bade her call him Love, or by whatever other name she 
pleased, for he was no longer Romeo, if that name was 
displeasing to her. Juliet, alarmed to hear a man's voice 
in the garden, did not at first know who it was, that by 
favor of the night and darkness had thus stumbled upon 
the discovery of her secret ; but when he spoke again, 
though her ears had not yet drunk a hundred words of that 
tongue's uttering, yet so nice is a lover's hearing, that she 
immediately knew him to be young Romeo, and she 



Romeo and Juliet 253 

expostulated with him on the danger to which he had 
exposed himself by climbing the orchard walls, for if any 
of her kinsmen should find him there, it would be death to 
him, being a Montague. " Alack," said Romeo, " there is 
more peril in your eye, than in twenty of their swords. 
Do you but look kind upon me, lady, 'and I am proof 
against their enmity. Better my life should be ended by 
their hate, than that hated life should be prolonged, to live 
without your love." — " How came you into this place," 
said Juliet, " and by whose direction ? " — " Love directed 
me," answered Romeo : " I am no pilot, yet wert thou as 
far apart from me, as that vast shore which is washed with 
the farthest sea, I should venture for such merchandise." 
A crimson blush came over Juliet's face, yet unseen by 
Romeo by reason of the night, when she reflected upon 
the discovery which she had made, yet not meaning to 
make it, of her love to Romeo. She would fain have 
recalled her words, but that was impossible : fain would 
she have stood upon form, and have kept her lover at a 
distance, as the custom of discreet ladies is, to frown and be 
perverse, and give their suitors harsh denials at first ; to 
stand off, and affect a coyness of indifference, where they 
most love, that their lovers may not think them too lightly 
or too easily won ; for the difficulty of attainment in- 
creases the value of the object. But there was no room 
in her case for denials, or puttings off, or any of the cus- 
tomary arts of delay and protracted courtship. Romeo 
had heard from her own tongue, when she did not dream 
that he was near her, a confession of her love. So with an 
honest frankness, which the novelty of her situation ex- 
cused, she confirmed the truth of what he had before 
heard, and addressing him by the name of fair Montague 
(love can sweeten a sour name), she begged him not to 
impute her easy yielding to levity or an unworthy mind, 



254 Tales from Shakspeare 

but that he must lay the fault of it (if it were a fault) upon 
the accident of the night which had so strangely dis- 
covered her thoughts. And she added, that though her 
behavior to him might not be sufficiently prudent, meas- 
ured by the custom of her sex, yet that she would prove 
more true than many whose prudence was dissembling, 
and their modesty artificial cunning. 

Romeo was beginning to call the heavens to witness, 
that nothing was farther from his thoughts than to impute 
a shadow of dishonor to such an honored lady, when 
she stopped him, begging him not to swear ; for although 
she joyed in him, yet she had no joy of that night's con- 
tract : it was too rash, too unadvised, too sudden. But he 
being urgent with her to exchange a vow of love with him 
that night, she said that she already had given him hers 
before he requested it ; meaning, when he overheard her 
confession ; but she would retract what she then bestowed, 
for the pleasure of giving it again, for her bounty was 
as infinite as the sea, and her love as deep. From this 
loving conference she was called away by her nurse, who 
slept with her, and thought it time for her to be in bed, for 
it was near to daybreak ; but hastily returning, she said 
three or four words more to Romeo, the purport of which 
was, that if his love was indeed honorable, and his pur- 
pose marriage, she would send a messenger to him to- 
morrow, to appoint a time for their marriage, when she would 
lay all her fortunes at his feet, and follow him as her lord 
through the world. While they were settling this point, 
Juliet was repeatedly called for by her nurse, and went in and 
returned, and went and returned again, for she seemed as 
jealous of Romeo going from her, as a young girl of her 
bird, which she will let hop a little from her hand, and 
pluck it back with a silken thread ; and Romeo was as loath 
to part as she ; for the sweetest music to lovers is the 



Romeo and Juliet 155 

sound of each other's tongues at night. But at last they 
parted, wishing mutually sweet sleep and rest for that nignt. 

The day was breaking when they parted, and Romeo, 
who was too full of thoughts of his mistress and that blessed 
meeting to allow him to sleep, instead of going home, bent 
his course to a monastery hard by, to find friar Lawrence. 
The good friar was already up at his devotions, but seeing 
young Romeo abroad so early, he conjectured rightly that 
he had not been abed that night, but that some distemper 
of youthful affection had kept him waking. He was right 
in imputing the cause of Romeo's wakefulness to love, 
but he made a wrong guess at the object, for he thought 
that his love for Rosaline had kept him waking. But 
when Romeo revealed his new passion for Juliet, and 
requested the assistance of the friar to marry them that 
day, the holy man lifted up his eyes and hands in a sort of 
wonder at the sudden change in Romeo's affections, for he 
had been privy to all Romeo's love for Rosaline, and his 
many complaints of her disdain : and as he said, that 
young men's love lay not truly in their hearts, but in their 
eyes. But Romeo replying, that he himself had often 
chidden him for doting on Rosaline, who could not love 
him again, whereas Juliet both loved and was beloved 
by him, the friar assented in some measure to his reasons ; 
and thinking that a matrimonial alliance between young 
Juliet and Romeo might happily be the means of making 
up the long breach between the Capulets and the Mon- 
tagues ; which no one more lamented than this good friar, 
who was a friend to both the families and had often inter- 
posed his mediation to make up the quarrel without effect ; 
partly moved by policy, and partly by his fondness for 
young Romeo, to whom he could deny nothing, the old 
man consented to join their hands in marriage. 

Now was Romeo blessed indeed, and Juliet, who knew 



256 Tales from Shakspeare 

his intent from a messenger which she had despatched 
according to promise, did not fail to be early at the cell of 
friar Lawrence, where their hands were joined in holy 
marriage ; the good friar praying the heavens to smile 
upon that act, and in the union of this young Montague 
and young Capulet to bury the old strife and long 
dissensions of their families. 

The ceremony being over Juliet hastened home, where 
she stayed impatient for the coming of night, at which 
time Romeo promised to come and meet her in the orchard, 
where they had met the night before ; and the time between 
seemed as tedious to her, as the night before some great 
festival seems to an impatient child, that has got new 
finery which it may not put on till the morning. 

That same day, about noon, Romeo's friends, Benvolio 
and Mercutio, walking through the streets of Verona, were 
met by a party of the Capulets with the impetuous Tybalt 
at their head. This was the same angry Tybalt who 
would have fought with Romeo at old lord Capulet's feast. 
He, seeing Mercutio, accused him bluntly of associating with 
Romeo, a Montague. Mercutio, who had as much fire and 
youthful blood in him as Tybalt, replied to this accusa- 
tion with some sharpness ; and in spite of all Benvolio 
could say to moderate their wrath, a quarrel was beginning, 
when Romeo himself passing that way, the fierce Tybalt 
turned from Mercutio to Romeo, and gave him the disgrace- 
ful appellation of villain. Romeo wished to avoid a 
quarrel with Tybalt above all men, because he was the 
kinsman of Juliet, and much loved by her; besides, this 
young Montague had never thoroughly entered into the 
family quarrel, being by nature wise and gentle, and the 
name of a Capulet, which was his dear lady's name, was 
now rather a charm to allay resentment, than a watchword 
to excite fury. So he tried to reason with Tybalt, whom 



Romeo and Juliet 257 

he saluted mildly by the name of good Capidet, as if he, 
though a Montague, had some secret pleasure in uttering 
that name : but Tybalt, who hated all Montagues as he 
hated hell, would hear no reason, but drew his weapon ; 
and Mercutio, who knew not of Romeo's secret motive for 
desiring peace with Tybalt, but looked upon his present 
forbearance as a sort of calm dishonorable submission, 
with many disdainful words provoked Tybalt to the prose- 
cution of his first quarrel with him ; and Tybalt and 
Mercutio fought, till Mercutio fell, receiving his death's 
wound while Romeo and Benvolio were vainly endeavor- 
ing to part the combatants. Mercutio being dead, Romeo 
kept his temper no longer, but returned the scornful 
appellation of villain which Tybalt had given him ; and 
they fought till Tybalt was slain by Romeo. This deadly 
broil falling out in the midst of Verona at noonday, the 
news of it quickly brought a crowd of citizens to the spot, 
and among them the old lords Capulet and Montague, 
with their wives ; and soon after arrived the prince him- 
self, who being related to Mercutio, whom Tybalt had 
slain, and having had the peace of his government often 
disturbed by these brawls of Montagues and Capulets, 
came determined to put the law in strictest force against 
those who should be found to be offenders. Benvolio, 
who had been eyewitness to the fray, was commanded by 
the prince to relate the origin of it ; which he did, keeping 
as near the truth as he could without injury to Romeo, 
softening and excusing the part which his friends took in 
it. Lady Capulet, whose extreme grief for the loss of 
her kinsman Tybalt made her keep no bounds in her 
revenge, exhorted the prince to do strict justice upon his 
murderer, and to pay no attention to Benvolio's representa- 
tion, who, being. Romeo's friend and a Montague, spoke 
partially. Thus she pleaded against her new son-in-law, 



258 Tales from Shakspeare 

but she knew not yet that he was her son-in-law and 
Juliet's husband. On the other hand was to be seen lady 
Montague pleading for her child's life, and arguing with 
some justice that Romeo had done nothing worthy of 
punishment in taking the life of Tybalt, which was already 
forfeited to the law by his having slain Mercutio. The 
prince, unmoved by the passionate exclamations of these 
women, on a careful examination of the facts, pronounced 
his sentence, and by that sentence Romeo was banished 
from Verona. 

Heavy news to young Juliet, who had been but a few 
hours a bride, and now by this decree seemed everlastingly 
divorced ! When the tidings reached her, she at first 
gave way to rage against Romeo, who had slain her 
dear cousin : she called him a beautiful tyrant, a fiend 
angelical, a ravenous dove, a lamb with a wolf's nature, 
a serpent-heart hid with a flowering face, and other like 
contradictory names, which denoted the struggles in her 
mind between her love and her resentment : but in the 
end love got the mastery, and the tears which she shed 
for grief that Romeo had slain her cousin, turned to drops 
of joy that her husband lived whom Tybalt would have 
slain. Then came fresh tears, and they were altogether 
of grief for Romeo's banishment. That word was more 
terrible to her than the death of many Tybalts. 

Romeo, after the fray, had taken refuge in friar 
Lawrence's cell, where he was first made acquainted with 
the prince's sentence, which seemed to him far more 
terrible than death. To him it appeared there was no 
world out of Verona's walls, no living out of the sight 
of Juliet. Heaven was there where Juliet lived and all 
beyond was purgatory, torture, hell. The good friar 
would have applied the consolation of philosophy to his 
grief ; but this frantic young man would hear of none, 



Romeo and Juliet 259 

but like a madman he tore his hair, and threw himself 
all along upon the ground, as he said, to take the measure 
of his grave. From this unseemly state he was roused 
by a message from his dear lady, which a little revived 
him ; and then the friar took the advantage to expostulate 
with him on the unmanly weakness which he had shown. 
He had slain Tybalt, but would he also slay himself, slay 
his dear lady, who lived but in his life ? The noble form 
of man, he said, was but a shape of wax, when it wanted 
the courage which should keep it firm. The law had been 
lenient to him, that instead of death, which he had incurred, 
had pronounced by the prince's mouth only banishment. 
He had slain Tybalt, but Tybalt would have slain him : 
there was a sort of happiness in that. Juliet was alive, 
and (beyond all hope) had become his dear wife ; therein 
he was most happy. All these blessings, as the friar made 
them out to be, did Romeo put from him like a sullen 
misbehaved wench. And the friar bade him beware, for 
such as despaired (he said) died miserable. Then when 
Romeo was a little calmed, he counselled him that he 
should go that night and secretly take his leave of Juliet, 
and thence proceed straightways to Mantua, at which place 
he should sojourn, till the friar found fit occasion to publish 
his marriage, which might be a joyful means of reconciling 
their families ; and then he did not doubt but the prince 
would be moved to pardon him, and he would return with 
twenty times more joy than he went forth with grief. 
Romeo was convinced by these wise counsels of the friar, 
and took his leave to go and seek his lady, proposing to 
stay with her that night, and by daybreak pursue his jour- 
ney alone to Mantua ; to which place the good friar prom- 
ised to send him letters from time to time, acquainting him 
with the state of affairs at home. 

That night Romeo passed with his dear wife, gaining 



260 Tales from Shakspeare 

secret admission to her chamber, from the orchard in 
which he had heard her confession of love the night 
before. That had been a night of unmixed joy and rap- 
ture ; but the pleasures of this night, and the delight 
which these lovers took in each other's society, were sadly 
allayed with the prospect of parting, and the fatal adven- 
tures of the past day. The unwelcome daybreak seemed 
to come too soon, and when Juliet heard the morning song 
of the lark, she would have persuaded herself that it was 
the nightingale, which sings by night ; but it was too truly 
the lark which sang, and a discordant and unpleasing note 
it seemed to her ; and the streaks of day in the east too 
certainly pointed out that it was time for these lovers to 
part. Romeo took his leave of his dear wife with a heavy 
heart, promising to write to her from Mantua every hour 
in the day ; and when he had descended from her chamber- 
window, as he stood below her on the ground, in that sad 
foreboding state of mind in which she was, he appeared 
to her eyes as one dead in the bottom of a tomb. Romeo's 
mind misgave him in like manner ; but now he was forced 
hastily to depart, for it was death for him to be found 
within the walls of Verona after daybreak. 

This was but the beginning of the tragedy of this pair 
of star-crossed lovers. Romeo had not been gone many 
days, before the old lord Capulet proposed a match for 
Juliet. The husband he had chosen for her, not dreaming 
that she was married already, was count Paris, a gallant, 
young, and noble gentleman, no unworthy suitor to the 
young Juliet, if she had never seen Romeo. 

The terrified Juliet was in a sad perplexity at her father's 
offer. She pleaded her youth unsuitable to marriage, the 
recent death of Tybalt, which had left her spirits too weak 
to meet a husband with any face of joy, and how indeco- 
rous it would show for the family of the Capulets to be 



Romeo and Juliet 261 

celebrating a nuptial feast, when his funeral solemnities 
were hardly over : she pleaded every reason against the 
match, but the true one, namely, that she was married 
already. But lord Capulet was deaf to all her excuses, 
and in a peremptory manner ordered her to get ready, for 
by the following Thursday she should be married to Paris : 
and having found her a husband, rich, young, and noble, 
such as the proudest maid in Verona might joyfully ac- 
cept, he could not bear that out of an affected coyness, as 
he construed her denial, she should oppose obstacles to 
her own good fortune. 

In this extremity Juliet applied to the friendly friar, 
always her counsellor in distress, and he asking her if she 
had resolution to undertake a desperate remedy, and she 
answering that she would go into the grave alive rather 
than marry Paris, her own dear husband living ; he 
directed her to go home, and appear merry, and give her 
consent to marry Paris, according to her father's desire, 
and on the next night, which was the night before the 
marriage, to drink off the contents of a phial which he 
then gave her, the effect of which would be that for two- 
and-forty hours after drinking it she should appear cold 
and lifeless ; and when the bridegroom came to fetch her 
in the morning, he would find her to appearance dead ; 
that then she would be borne, as the manner in that coun- 
try was, uncovered on a bier, to be buried in the family 
vault ; that if she could put off womanish fear, and con- 
sent to this terrible trial, in forty-two hours after swallow- 
ing the liquid (such was its certain operation) she would 
be sure to awake, as from a dream ; and before she should 
awake, he would let her husband know their drift, and he 
should come in the night, and bear her thence to Mantua. 
Love, and the dread of marrying Paris, gave young Juliet 
strength to undertake this horrible adventure ; and she 



262 Tales from Shakspeare 

took the phial of the friar, promising to observe his direc- 
tions. Going from the monastery, she met the young 
count Paris, and modestly dissembling, promised to be- 
come his bride. This was joyful news to the lord Capulet 
and his wife. It seemed to put youth into the old man ; 
and Juliet, who had displeased him exceedingly, by her 
refusal of the count, was his darling again, now she prom- 
ised to be obedient. All things in the house were in a 
bustle against the approaching nuptials. No cost was 
spared to prepare such festival rejoicings as Verona had 
never before witnessed. 

On the Wednesday night Juliet drank off the potion. 
She had many misgivings lest the friar, to avoid the blame 
which might be imputed to him for marrying her to Romeo, 
had given her poison ; but then he was always known for 
a holy man : then lest she should awake before the time 
that Romeo was to come for her ; whether the terror of 
the place, a vault full of dead Capulets' bones, and where 
Tybalt, all bloody, lay festering in his shroud, would not 
be enough to drive her distracted : again she thought of 
all the stories she had heard of spirits haunting the places 
where their bodies were bestowed. But then her love for 
Romeo, and her aversion for Paris returned, and she des- 
perately swallowed the draught, and became insensible. 

When young Paris came early in the morning with 
music to awaken his bride, instead of a living Juliet, her 
chamber presented the dreary spectacle of a lifeless corse. 
What death to his hopes ! What confusion then reigned 
through the whole house ! Poor Paris lamenting his bride, 
whom most detestable death had beguiled him of, had 
divorced from him even before their hands were joined. 
But still more piteous it was to hear the mournings of the 
old lord and lady Capulet, who having but this one, one 
poor loving child to rejoice and solace in, cruel death had 



Romeo and Juliet 263 

snatched her from their sight, just as these careful parents 
were on the point of seeing her advanced (as they thought) 
by a promising and advantageous match. Now all things 
that were ordained for the festival were turned from their 
properties to do the office of a black funeral. The wed- 
ding cheer served for a sad burial feast, the bridal hymns 
were changed for sullen dirges, the sprightly instruments 
to melancholy bells, and the flowers that should have been 
strewed in the bride's path, now served but to strew her 
corse. Now, instead of a priest to marry her, a priest was 
needed to bury her; and she was borne to church indeed, 
not to augment the cheerful hopes of the living, but to 
swell the dreary numbers of the dead. 

Bad news, which always travels faster than good, now 
brought the dismal story of his Juliet's death to Romeo, at 
Mantua, before the messenger could arrive, who was sent 
from friar Lawrence to apprise him that these were mock 
funerals only, and but the shadow and representation of 
death, and that his dear lady lay in the tomb but for a 
short while, expecting when Romeo would come to release 
her from that dreary mansion. Just before, Romeo had 
been unusually joyful and light-hearted. He had dreamed 
in the night that he was dead (a strange dream, that gave 
a dead man leave to think), and that his lady came and 
found him dead, and breathed such life with kisses in his 
lips, that he revived, and was an emperor ! And now that 
a messenger came from Verona, he thought surely it was 
to confirm some good news which his dreams had pre- 
saged. But when the contrary to this flattering vision 
appeared, and that it was his lady who was dead in truth, 
whom he could not revive by any kisses, he ordered horses 
to be got ready, for he determined that night to visit 
Verona, and to see his lady in her tomb. And as mischief 
is swift to enter into the thoughts of desperate men, he 



264 Tales from Shakspeare 

called to mind a poor apothecary, whose shop in Mantua 
he had lately passed, and from the beggarly appearance of 
the man, who seemed famished, and the wretched show in 
his shop of empty boxes ranged on dirty shelves, and other 
tokens of extreme wretchedness, he had said at the time 
(perhaps having some misgivings that his own disastrous 
life might haply meet with a conclusion so desperate), " If 
a man were to need poison, which by the law of Mantua it 
is death to sell, here lives a poor wretch who would sell it 
him." These words of his now came into his mind, and 
he sought out the apothecary, who after some pretended 
scruples, Romeo offering him gold, which his poverty 
could not resist, sold him a poison, which, if he swallowed, 
he told him, if he had the strength of twenty men, would 
quickly despatch him. 

With this poison he set out for Verona, to have a sight 
of his dear lady in her tomb, meaning, when he had satis- 
fied his sight, to swallow the poison, and be buried by 
her side. He reached Verona at midnight, and found the 
churchyard, in the midst of which was situated the ancient 
tomb of the Capulets. He had provided a light, and a 
spade, and wrenching iron, and was proceeding to break 
open the monument, when he was interrupted by a voice, 
which by the name of vile Montague, bade him desist from 
his unlawful business. It was the young count Paris, who 
had come to the tomb of Juliet at that unseasonable time 
of night, to strew flowers and to weep over the grave of 
her that should have been his bride. He knew not what 
an interest Romeo had in the dead, but knowing him to 
be a Montague, (and as he supposed) a sworn foe to all the 
Capulets, he judged that he was come by night to do some 
villanous shame to the dead bodies ; therefore in an angry 
tone he bade him desist ; and as a criminal, condemned by 
the laws of Verona to die if he were found within the 



Romeo and Juliet 265 

walls of the city, he would have apprehended him. Romeo 
urged Paris to leave him, and warned him by the fate of 
Tybalt, who lay buried there, not to provoke his anger, or 
draw down another sin upon his head, by forcing him to 
kill him. But the count in scorn refused his warning, and 
laid hands on him as a felon, which Romeo resisting, they 
fought, and Paris fell. When Romeo, by the help of a 
light, came to see who it was that he had slain, that it was 
Paris, who (he learned in his way from Mantua) should have 
married Juliet, he took the dead youth by the hand, as one 
whom misfortune had made a companion, and said that he 
would bury him in a triumphal grave, meaning in Juliet's 
grave, which he now opened : and there lay his lady, as one 
whom death had no power upon to change a feature or 
complexion in her matchless beauty ; or as if Death were 
amorous, and the lean abhorred monster kept her there for 
his delight ; for she lay yet fresh and blooming, as she had 
fallen to sleep when she swallowed that benumbing potion ; 
and near her lay Tybalt in his bloody shroud, whom Romeo 
seeing, begged pardon of his lifeless corse, and for Juliet's 
sake called him cotisin, and said that he was about to do 
him a favor by putting his enemy to death. Here Romeo 
took his last leave of his lady's lips, kissing them ; and 
here he shook the burden of his cross stars from his weary 
body, swallowing that poison which the apothecary had 
sold him, whose operation was fatal and real, not like that 
dissembling potion which Juliet had swallowed, the effect 
of which was now nearly expiring and she about to awake 
to complain that Romeo had not kept his time, or that he 
had come too soon. 

For now the hour was arrived at which the friar had 
promised that she should awake ; and he, having learned 
that his letters which he bad sent to Mantua, by some 
unlucky detention of the messenger, had never reached 



266 Tales from Shakspeare 

Romeo, came himself, provided with a pickaxe and lan- 
tern, to deliver the lady from her confinement ; but he 
was surprised to find a light already burning in the 
Capulets' monument, and to see swords and blood near 
it, and Romeo and Paris lying breathless by the monu- 
ment. 

Before he could entertain a conjecture, to imagine how 
these fatal accidents had fallen out, Juliet awoke out of 
her trance, and seeing the friar near her, she remembered 
the place where she was, and the occasion of her being 
there, and asked for Romeo, but the friar, hearing a noise, 
bade her come out of that place of death, and of unnatural 
sleep, for a greater power than they could contradict had 
thwarted their intents ; and being frightened by the noise 
of people coming, he fled : but when Juliet saw the cup 
closed in her true love's hands, she guessed that poison 
had been the cause of his end, and she would have swal- 
lowed the dregs if any had been left, and she kissed his 
still warm lips to try if any poison yet did hang upon 
them ; then hearing a nearer noise of people coming, she 
quickly unsheathed a dagger which she wore, and stabbing 
herself, died by her true Romeo's side. 

The watch by this time had come up to the place. A 
page belonging to count Paris, who had witnessed the fight 
between his master and Romeo, had given the alarm, which 
had spread among the citizens, who went up and down the 
streets of Verona confusedly exclaiming, A Paris ! a Ro- 
meo ! a Juliet ! as the rumor had imperfectly reached 
them, till the uproar brought lord Montague and lord Cap- 
ulet out of their beds, with the prince, to inquire into the 
causes of the disturbance. The friar had been apprehended 
by some of the watch, coming from the churchyard, trem- 
bling, sighing, and weeping, in a suspicious manner. A 
great multitude being assembled at the Capulets' monu- 



Romeo and Juliet 267 

ment, the friar was demanded by the prince to deliver 
what he knew of these strange and disastrous accidents. 

And there, in the presence of the old lords Montague 
and Capulet, he faithfully related the story of their chil- 
dren's fatal love, the part he took in promoting their mar- 
riage, in the hope in that union to end the long quarrels 
between their families : how Romeo, there dead, was hus- 
band to Juliet ; and Juliet there dead, was Romeo's faithful 
wife ; how before he could find a fit opportunity to divulge 
their marriage, another match was projected for Juliet, 
who, to avoid the crime of a second marriage, swallowed 
the sleeping draught (as he advised), and all thought her 
dead ; how meantime he wrote to Romeo, to come and 
take her thence when the force of the potion should cease, 
and by what unfortunate miscarriage of the messenger the 
letters never reached Romeo : further than this the friar 
could not follow the story, nor knew more than that com- 
ing himself, to deliver Juliet from that place of death, he 
found the count Paris and Romeo slain. The remainder 
of the transactions was supplied by the narration of the 
page who had seen Paris and Romeo fight, and by the ser- 
vant who came with Romeo from Verona, to whom this 
faithful lover had given letters to be delivered to his father 
in the event of his death, which made good the friar's 
words, confessing his marriage with Juliet, imploring the 
forgiveness of his parents, acknowledging the buying of the 
poison of the poor apothecary, and his intent in coming 
to the monument, to die, and lie with Juliet. All these 
circumstances agreed together to clear the friar from any 
hand he could be supposed to have in these complicated 
slaughters, further than as the unintended consequences 
of his own well meant, yet too artificial and subtle contriv- 
ances. 

And the prince, turning to these old lords, Montague 



268 Tales from Shakspeare 

and Capulet, rebuked them for their brutal and irrational 
enmities, and showed them what a scourge Heaven had 
laid upon such offences, that it had found means even 
through the love of their children to punish their unnatu- 
ral hate. And these old rivals, no longer enemies, agreed 
to bury their long strife in their children's graves ; and 
lord Capulet requested lord Montague to give him his 
hand, calling him by the name of brother, as if in acknowl- 
edgment of the union of their families, by the marriage of 
the young Capulet and Montague ; and saying that lord 
Montague's hand (in token of reconcilement) was all he 
demanded for his daughter's jointure: but lord Montague 
said he would give him more, for he would raise her a 
statue of pure gold, that while Verona kept its name, no 
figure should be so esteemed for its richness and work- 
manship as that of the true and faithful Juliet. And lord 
Capulet in return said that he would raise another statue 
to Romeo. So did these poor old lords, when it was too 
late, strive to outgo each other in mutual courtesies ; 
while so deadly had been their rage and enmity in past 
times, that nothing but the fearful overthrow of their chil- 
dren (poor sacrifices to their quarrels and dissensions) 
could remove the rooted hates and jealousies of the noble 
families. 




The Taming of the Shrew 



THE TAMING OF THE SHREW 

Katharine, the Shrew, was the eldest daughter of Bap 
tista, a rich gentleman of Padua. She was a lady of such 
an ungovernable spirit and fiery temper, such a loud- 
tongued scold, that she was known in Padua by no other 
name than Katharine the Shrew. It seemed very unlikely, 
indeed impossible, that any gentleman would ever be found 
who would venture to marry this lady, and therefore Bap- 
tista was much blamed for deferring his consent to many 
excellent offers that were made to her gentle sister Bianca, 
putting off all Bianca's suitors with this excuse, that when 
the eldest sister was fairly off his hands, they should have 
free leave to address young Bianca. 

It happened, however, that a gentleman, named Petru- 
chio, came to Padua, purposely to look out for a wife, who, 
nothing discouraged by these reports of Katharine's tem- 
per, and hearing she was rich and handsome, resolved upon 
marrying this famous termagant, and taming her into a 
meek and manageable wife. And truly none was so fit 
to set about this herculean labor as Petruchio, whose 
spirit was as high as Katharine's, and he was a witty and 
most happy-tempered humorist, and withal so wise, and 
of such a true judgment, that he well knew how to feign 
a passionate and furious deportment, when his spirits were 
so calm that himself could have laughed merrily at his 
own angry feigning, for his natural temper was careless 
and easy ; the boisterous airs he assumed when he became 
the husband of Katharine being but in sport, or more 
properly speaking, affected by his excellent discernment, 

271 



272 Tales from Shakspeare 

as the only means to overcome, in her own way, the pas- 
sionate ways of the furious Katharine. 

A courting then Petruchio went to Katharine the 
Shrew ; and first of all he applied to Baptista, her father, 
for leave to woo his gentle daughter Katharine, as Petru- 
chio called her, saying archly, that having heard of her 
bashful modesty and mild behavior, he had come from 
Verona to solicit her love. Her father, though he wished 
her marriage, was forced to confess Katharine would ill 
answer this character, it being soon apparent of what 
manner of gentleness she was composed, for her music- 
master rushed into the room to complain that the gentle 
Katharine, his pupil, had broken his head with her lute, 
for presuming to find fault with her performance ; which, 
when Petruchio heard, he said, " It is a brave wench ; I 
love her more than ever, and long to have some chat with 
her;" and hurrying the old gentleman for a positive an- 
swer, he said, " My business is in haste, signior Baptista, 
I cannot come every day to woo. You knew my father : 
he is dead, and has left me heir to all his lands and goods. 
Then tell me, if I get your daughter's love, what dowry 
you will give with her." Baptista thought his manner 
was somewhat blunt for a lover ; but being glad to get 
Katharine married, he answered that he would give her 
twenty thousand crowns for her dowry, and half his estate 
at his death : so this odd match was quickly agreed on, 
and Baptista went to apprise his shrewish daughter of her 
lover's addresses, and sent her in to Petruchio to listen to 
his suit. 

In the meantime Petruchio was settling .with himself 
the mode of courtship he should pursue ; and he said, " I 
will woo her with some spirit when she comes. If she 
rails at me, why then I will tell her she sings as sweetly 
as a nightingale ; and if she frowns, I will say she looks 



The Taming of the Shrew 273 

as clear as roses newly washed with dew. If she will not 
speak a word, I will praise the eloquence of her language ; 
and if she bids me leave her, I will give her thanks as if 
she bid me stay with her a week." Now the stately 
Katharine entered, and Petruchio first addressed her with 
" Good morrow, Kate, for that is your name, I hear." 
Katharine, not liking this plain salutation, said disdainfully, 
"They call me Katharine who do speak to me." — "You 
lie," replied the lover ; "for you are called plain Kate, and 
bonny Kate, and sometimes Kate the Shrew : but, Kate, 
you are the prettiest Kate in Christendom, and therefore, 
Kate, hearing your mildness praised in every town, I am 
come to woo you for my wife." 

A strange courtship they made of it. She in loud and 
angry terms showing him how justly she had gained the 
name of Shrew, while he still praised her sweet and cour- 
teous words, till at length, hearing her father coming, he 
said (intending to make as quick a wooing as possible), 
" Sweet Katharine, let us set this idle chat aside, for 
your father has consented that you shall be my wife, your 
dowry is agreed on, and whether you will or no, I will 
marry you." 

And now Baptista entering, Petruchio told him his 
daughter had received him kindly, and that she had prom- 
ised to be married the next Sunday. This Katharine 
denied, saying she would rather see him hanged on Sun- 
day, and reproached her father for wishing to wed her to 
such a mad-cap ruffian as Petruchio. Petruchio desired 
her father not to regard her angry words, for they had 
agreed she should seem reluctant before him, but that 
when they were alone he had found her very fond and lov- 
ing ; and he said to her, "Give me your hand, Kate; I 
will go to Venice to buy you fine apparel against our 
wedding day. Provide the feast, father, and bid the wed- 



274 Tales from Shakspeare 

ding guests. I will be sure to bring rings, fine array, and 
rich clothes, that my Katharine may be fine ; and kiss me, 
Kate, for we will be married on Sunday." 

On the Sunday all the wedding guests were assembled, 
but they waited long before Petruchio came, and Katha- 
rine wept for vexation to think that Petrirchio had only 
been making a jest of her. At last, however, he appeared; 
but he brought none of the bridal finery he had promised 
Katharine, nor was he dressed himself like a bridegroom, 
but in strange disordered attire, as if he meant to make a 
sport of the serious business he came about ; and his ser- 
vants and the very horses on which they rode were in like 
manner in mean and fantastic fashion habited. 

Petruchio could not be persuaded to change his dress ; 
he said Katharine was to be married to him, and not to his 
clothes ; and finding it was in vain to argue with him, to 
the church they went, he still behaving in the same mad 
way, for when the priest asked Petruchio if Katharine 
should be his wife, he swore so loud that she should, that, 
all amazed, the priest let fall his book, and as he stooped 
to take it up, this mad-brained bridegroom gave him such 
a cuff, that down fell the priest and his book again. And 
all the while they were being married he stamped and swore 
so, that the high-spirited Katharine trembled and shook with 
fear. After the ceremony was over, while they were yet 
in the church, he called for wine, and drank a loud health 
to the company, and threw a sop which was at the bottom 
of the glass full in the sexton's face, giving no other reason 
for this strange act, than that the sexton's beard grew thin 
and hungerly, and seemed to ask the sop as he was drink- 
ing. Never sure was there such a mad marriage ; but Pe- 
truchio did but put this wildness on, the better to succeed 
in the plot he had formed to tame his shrewish wife. 

Baptista had provided a sumptuous marriage feast, but 



The Taming of the Shrew 275 

when they returned from church, Petruchio, taking hold of 
Katharine, declared his intention of carrying his wife home 
instantly ; and no remonstrance of his father-in-law, or 
angry words of the enraged Katharine, could make him 
change his purpose. He claimed a husband's rights to 
dispose of his wife as he pleased, and away he hurried 
Katharine off : he seeming so daring and resolute that no 
one dared attempt to stop him. 

Petruchio mounted his wife upon a miserable horse, lean 
and lank, which he had picked out for the purpose, and 
himself and his servant no better mounted; they journeyed 
on through rough and miry ways, and ever when this horse 
of Katharine's stumbled, he would storm and swear at the 
poor jaded beast, who could scarce crawl under his burthen, 
as if he had been the most passionate man alive. 

At length, after a weary journey, during which Katharine 
had heard nothing but the wild ravings of Petruchio at the 
servant and the horses, they arrived at his house. Petru- 
chio welcomed her kindly to her home, but he resolved she 
should have neither rest nor food that night. The tables 
were spread, and supper soon served ; but Petruchio, pre- 
tending to find fault with every dish, threw the meat about 
the floor, and ordered the servants to remove it away ; and 
all this he did, as he said, in love for his Katharine, that 
she might not eat meat that was not well dressed. And 
when Katharine, weary and supperless, retired to rest, he 
found the same fault with the bed, throwing the pillows 
and bed-clothes about the room, so that she was forced to 
sit down in a chair, where if she chanced to drop asleep, 
she was presently awakened by the loud voice of her hus- 
band, storming at the servants for the ill-making of his 
wife's bridal-bed. 

The next day Petruchio pursued the same course, still 
speaking kind words to Katharine, but when she attempted 



276 Tales from Shakspeare 

to eat, finding fault with everything that was set before 
her, throwing the breakfast on the floor as he had done the 
supper ; and Katharine, the haughty Katharine, was fain 
to beg the servants would bring her secretly a morsel of 
food ; but they being instructed by Petruchio, replied, they 
dared not' give her anything unknown to their master. 
"Ah," said she, "did he marry me to famish me? Beg- 
gars that come to my father's door have food given them. 
But I, who never knew what it was to entreat for anything, 
am starved for want of food, giddy for want of sleep, with 
oaths kept waking, and with brawling fed ; and that which 
vexes me more than all, he does it under the name of per- 
fect love, pretending that if I sleep or eat, it were present 
death to me." Here the soliloquy was interrupted by the 
entrance of Petruchio : he, not meaning she should be quite 
starved, had brought her a small portion of meat, and he 
said to her, " How fares my sweet Kate ? Here, love, you 
see how diligent I am, I have dressed your meat myself. 
I am sure this kindness merits thanks. What, not a word ? 
Nay, then you love not the meat, and all the pains I have 
taken is to no purpose." He then ordered the servant to 
take the dish away. Extreme hunger, which had abated 
the pride of Katharine, made her say, though angered to 
the heart, "I pray you let it stand." But this was not all 
Petruchio intended to bring her to, and he replied, "The 
poorest service is repaid with thanks, and so shall mine be- 
fore you touch the meat." On this Katharine brought out 
a reluctant " I thank you, sir." And now he suffered her 
to make a slender meal, saying, " Much good may it do 
your gentle heart, Kate ; eat apace ! And now, my honey 
love, we will return to your father's house, and revel it as 
bravely as the best, with silken coats and caps and golden 
rings, with ruffs and scarfs and fans and double change of 
finery ; " and to make her believe he really intended to give 



The Taming of the Shrew 277 

her these gay things, he called in a tailor and a haber- 
dasher, who brought some new clothes he had ordered for 
her, and then giving her plate to the servant to take away, 
before she had half satisfied her hunger, he said, " What, 
have you dined ? " The haberdasher presented a cap, say- 
ing, " Here is the cap your worship bespoke ; " on which 
Petruchio began to storm afresh, saying the cap was 
moulded in a porringer, and that it was no bigger than 
a cockle or walnut shell, desiring the haberdasher to take 
it away and make a bigger. Katharine said, " I will have 
this; all gentlewomen wear such caps as these." — "When 
you are gentle," replied Petruchio, "you shall have one too, 
and not till then." The meat Katharine had eaten had a 
little revived her fallen spirits, and she said, " Why, sir, I 
trust I may have leave to speak, and speak I will : I am 
no child, no babe ; your betters have endured to hear me 
say my mind ; and if you cannot, you had better stop your 
ears." Petruchio would not hear these angry words, for 
he had happily discovered a better way of managing his 
wife than keeping up a jangling argument with her; there- 
fore his answer was, " Why, you say true ; it is a paltry 
cap, and I love you for not liking it." — " Love me, or love 
me not," said Katharine, " I like the cap, and I will have 
this cap or none." — " You say you wish to see the gown," 
said Petruchio, still affecting to misunderstand her. The 
tailor then came forward and showed her a fine gown he 
had made for her. Petruchio, whose intent was that she 
should have neither cap nor gown, found as much fault 
with that. "O mercy, Heaven!" said he, "what stuff is 
here ! What, do you call this a sleeve ? it is like a demi- 
cannon, carved up and down like an apple tart." The tailor 
said, "You bid me make it according to the fashion of the 
times ; " and Katharine said, she never saw a better fash- 
ioned gown. This was enough for Petruchio, and privately 



278 Tales from Shakspeare 

desiring these people might be paid for their goods, and ex- 
cuses made to them for the seemingly strange treatment 
he bestowed upon them, he with fierce words and furious 
gestures drove the tailor and the haberdasher out of the 
room ; and then, turning to Katharine, he said, " Well, 
come, my Kate, we will go to your father's even in these 
mean garments we now wear." And then he ordered his 
horses, affirming they should reach Baptista's house by 
dinner-time, for that it was but seven o'clock. Now it was 
not early morning, but the very middle of the day, when he 
spoke this ; therefore Katharine ventured to say, though 
modestly, being almost overcome by the vehemence of his 
manner, " I dare assure you, sir, it is two o'clock, and will 
be supper-time before we get there." But Petruchio meant 
that she should be so completely subdued, that she should 
assent to everything he said, before he carried her to her 
father ; and therefore, as if he were lord even of the sun, 
and could command the hours, he said it should be what 
time he pleased to have it, before he set forward ; " For," 
said he, " whatever I say or do, you still are crossing it. 
I will not go to-day, and when I go, it shall be what o'clock 
I say it is." Another day Katharine was forced to practise 
her newly-found obedience, and not till he had brought her 
proud spirit to such a perfect subjection that she dared 
not remember there was such a word as contradiction, 
would Petruchio allow her to go to her father's house; and 
even while they were upon their journey thither, she was 
in danger of being turned back again, only because she 
happened to hint it was the sun, when he affirmed the 
moon shone brightly at noonday. " Now, by my mother's 
son," said he, "and that is myself, it shall be the moon, or 
stars, or what I list, before I journey to your father's 
house." He then made as if he were going back again ; 
but Katharine, no longer Katharine the Shrew, but the 



The Taming of the Shrew 279 

obedient wife, said, " Let us go forward, I pray, now we 
have come so far, and it shall be the sun, or moon, or what 
you please ; and if you please to call it a rush candle hence- 
forth, I vow it shall be so for me." This he was resolved 
to prove, therefore he said again, "I say, it is the moon." 
— "I know it is the moon," replied Katharine. " You lie, 
it is the blessed sun," said Petruchio. "Then it is the 
blessed sun," replied Katharine ; " but the sun it is not, 
when you say it is not. What you will have it named, 
even so it is, and so it ever shall be for Katharine." Now 
then he suffered her to proceed on her journey ; but further 
to try if this yielding humor would last, he addressed an 
old gentleman they met on the road as if he had been a 
young woman, saying to him, " Good morrow, gentle mis- 
tress ; " and asked Katharine if she had ever beheld a fairer 
gentlewoman, praising the red and white of the old man's 
cheeks, and comparing his eyes to two bright stars ; and 
again he addressed him, saying, " Fair lovely maid, once 
more good day to you ! " and said to his wife, " Sweet Kate, 
embrace her for her beauty's sake." The now completely 
vanquished Katharine quickly adopted her husband's opin- 
ion, and made her speech in like sort to the old gentleman, 
saying to him, "Young budding virgin, you are fair, and 
fresh, and sweet : whither are you going, and where is your 
dwelling? Happy are the parents of so fair a child." — 
"Why, how now, Kate," said Petruchio; "I hope you are 
not mad. This is a man, old and wrinkled, faded and 
withered, and not a maiden, as you say he is." On this 
Katharine said, " Pardon me, old gentleman ; the sun has 
so dazzled my eyes, that everything I look on seemeth 
green. Now I perceive you are a reverend father : I hope 
you will pardon me for my sad mistake." — " Do, good old 
grandsire," said Petruchio, "and tell us which way you are 
travelling. We shall be glad of your good company, if you 



280 Tales from Shakspeare 

are going our way." The old gentleman replied, "Fair 
sir, and you, my merry mistress, your strange encounter has 
much amazed me. My name is Vincentio, and I am going 
to visit a son of mine who lives at Padua." Then Petru- 
chio knew the old gentleman to be the father of Lucentio, 
a young gentleman who was to be married to Baptista's 
younger daughter, Bianca, and he made Vincentio very 
happy, by telling him the rich marriage his son was about 
to make : and they all journeyed on pleasantly together 
till they came to Baptista's house, where there was a large 
company assembled to celebrate the wedding of Bianca 
and Lucentio, Baptista having willingly consented to the 
marriage of Bianca when he had got Katharine off his 
hands. 

When they entered, Baptista welcomed them to the 
wedding feast, and there was present also another newly 
married pair. 

Lucentio, Bianca's husband, and Hortensio, the other 
new-married man, could not forbear sly jests, which seemed 
to hint at the shrewish disposition of Petruchio's wife, and 
these fond bridegrooms seemed highly pleased with the 
mild tempers of the ladies they had chosen, laughing at 
Petruchio for his less fortunate choice. Petruchio took 
little notice of their jokes till the ladies were retired after 
dinner, and then he perceived Baptista himself joined in 
the laugh against him; for when Petruchio affirmed that 
his wife would prove more obedient than theirs, the father 
of Katharine said, " Now, in good sadness, son Petruchio, 
I fear you have got the veriest shrew of all." — "Well," 
said Petruchio, " I say no, and therefore for assurance that 
I speak the truth, let us each one send for his wife, and 
he whose wife is most obedient to come at first when she 
is sent for, shall win a wager which we will propose." To 
this the other two husbands willingly consented, for they 



The Taming of the Shrew 281 

were quite confident that their gentle wives would prove 
more obedient than the headstrong Katharine ; and they 
proposed a wager of twenty crowns, but Petruchio merrily 
said, he would lay as much as that upon his hawk or 
hound, but twenty times as much upon his wife. Lucentio 
and Hortensio raised the wager to a hundred crowns, and 
Lucentio first sent his servant to desire Bianca would come 
to him. But the servant returned and said, " Sir, my mis- 
tress sends you word she is busy and cannot come." — 
" How," said Petruchio, "does she say she is busy and can- 
not come? Is that an answer for a wife?" Then they 
laughed at him, and said, it would be well if Katharine did 
not send him a worse answer. And now it was Hortensio's 
turn to send for his wife ; and he said to his servant, " Go, 
and entreat my wife to come to me." " Oh ho ! entreat 
her ! " said Petruchio. " Nay, then, she needs must come." 
— "I am afraid, sir," said Hortensio, "your wife will not 
be entreated." But presently this civil husband looked a 
little blank, when the servant returned without his mis- 
tress ; and he said to him, " How now ! Where is my 
wife?" — "Sir," said the servant, "my mistress says you 
have some goodly jest in hand, and therefore she will not 
come. She bids you come to her." — " Worse and worse ! " 
said Petruchio; and then he sent his servant saying, "Sir- 
rah, go to your mistress, and tell her I command her to 
come to me." The company had scarcely time to think 
she would not obey this summons, when Baptista, all in 
amaze, exclaimed, "Now, by my kolidame, here comes 
Katharine ! " and she entered, saying meekly to Petruchio, 
" What is your will, sir, that you send for me ? " — " Where 
is your sister and Hortensio's wife ? " said he. Katharine 
replied, "They sit conferring by the parlor fire." — "Go, 
fetch them hither!" said Petruchio. Away went Katha- 
rine without reply to perform her husband's command. 



282 Tales from Shakspeare 

" Here is a wonder," said Lucentio, " if you talk of a won- 
der." — "And so it is," said Hortensio ;• "I marvel what it 
bodes." — " Marry, peace it bodes," said Petruchio, "and 
love, and quiet life, and right supremacy ; and, to be short, 
everything that is sweet and happy." Katharine's father, 
overjoyed to see this reformation in his daughter, said, 
" Now, fair befall thee, son Petruchio ! you have won the 
wager, and I will add another twenty thousand crowns to 
her dowry, as if she were another daughter, for she has 
changed as if she had never been." — "Nay," said Petru- 
chio, " I will win the wager better yet, and show more signs 
of her new-built virtue and obedience." Katharine now 
entering with the two ladies, he continued, " See where she 
comes and brings your froward wives as prisoners to her 
womanly persuasion. Katharine, that cap of yours does 
not become you ; off with that bawble, and throw it under 
foot." Katharine instantly took off her cap, and threw it 
down. " Lord ! " said Hortensio's wife, " may I never have a 
cause to sigh till I am brought to such a silly pass ! " And 
Bianca, she too said, "Fie, what foolish duty call you this?" 
On this Bianca's husband said to her, "I wish your duty 
were as foolish too ! The wisdom of your duty, fair Bianca, 
has cost me a hundred crowns since dinner-time." — "The 
more fool you," said Bianca, "for laying on my duty." — 
"Katharine," said Petruchio, "I charge you tell these 
headstrong women what duty they owe their lords and 
husbands." And to the wonder of all present, the reformed 
shrewish lady spoke as eloquently in praise of the wifelike 
duty of obedience, as she had practised it implicitly in a 
ready submission to Petruchio's will. And Katharine once 
more became famous in Padua, not as heretofore, as Katha- 
rine the Shrew, but as Katharine the most obedient and 
duteous wife in Padua. 




The Comedy of Errors 



THE COMEDY OF ERRORS 

The states of Syracuse and Ephesus being at variance, 
there was a cruel law made at Ephesus, ordaining that if 
any merchant of Syracuse was seen in the city of Ephesus, 
he was to be put to death, unless he could pay a thousand 
marks for the ransom of his life. 

^Egeon, an old merchant of Syracuse, was discovered in 
the streets of Ephesus, and brought before the duke, either 
to pay this heavy fine, or to receive sentence of death. 

JEgeon had no money to pay the fine, and the duke, 
before he pronounced the sentence of death upon him, 
desired him to relate the history of his life, and to tell for 
what cause he had ventured to come to the city of Ephe- 
sus, which it was death for any Syracusan merchant to 
enter. 

^Egeon said, that he did not fear to die, for sorrow had 
made him weary of his life, but that a heavier task could 
not have been imposed upon him than to relate the events 
of his unfortunate life. He then began his own history, 
in the following words : 

" I was born at Syracuse, and brought up to the profes- 
sion of a merchant. I married a lady, with whom I lived 
very happily, but being obliged to go to Epidamnum, I was 
detained there by my business six months, and then, find- 
ing I should be obliged to stay some time longer, I sent for 
my wife, whose two sons, born soon after she arrived, were 
so exactly alike, that it was impossible to distinguish the 
one from the other. At the same time that our twin 

285 



286 Tales from Shakspeare 

boys were born, a poor woman in the inn where my wife 
lodged had twin boys also, and these twins were as much 
like each other as my two sons were. The parents of 
these children being exceeding poor, I bought the two 
boys, and brought them up to attend upon my sons. 

" My sons were very fine children, and my wife was not 
a little proud of two such boys : and she daily wishing to 
return home, I unwillingly agreed, and in an evil hour we 
got on shipboard ; for we had not sailed above a league 
from Epidamnum before a dreadful storm arose, which con- 
tinued with such violence, that the sailors, seeing no chance 
of saving the ship, crowded into the boat to save their 
own lives, leaving us alone in the ship, which we every 
moment expected would be destroyed by the fury of the 
storm. 

"The incessant weeping of my wife, and the piteous 
complaints of the pretty babes, who, not knowing what to 
fear, wept for fashion, because they saw their mother weep, 
filled me with terror for them, though I did not for myself 
fear death ; and all my thoughts were bent to contrive 
means for their safety. I tied my youngest son to the end 
of a small spare mast, such as seafaring men provide 
against storms ; at the other end I bound the youngest 
of the twin slaves, and at the same time I directed my 
wife 'how to fasten the other children in like manner to 
another mast. She thus having the care of the two eldest 
children, and I of the two younger, we bound ourselves 
separately to these masts with the children ; and but for 
this contrivance we had all been lost, for the ship split on 
a mighty rock, and was dashed in pieces ; and we, clinging 
to these slender masts, were supported above the water, 
where I, having the care of two children, was unable to 
assist my wife, who with the other children was soon sepa- 
rated from me ; but while they were yet in my sight, they 



The Comedy of Errors 287 

were taken up by a boat of fishermen, from Corinth (as I 
supposed), and seeing them in safety, I had no care but to 
struggle with the wild sea-waves, to preserve my dear son 
and the youngest slave. At length we, in our turn, were 
taken up by a ship, and the sailors, knowing me, gave us 
kind welcome and assistance, and landed us in safety at 
Syracuse ; but from that sad hour I have never known 
what became of my wife and eldest child. 

"My youngest son, and now my only care, when he was 
eighteen years of age, began to be inquisitive after his 
mother and his brother, and often importuned me that he 
might take his attendant, the young slave, who had also 
lost his brother, and go in search of them ; at length I 
unwillingly gave consent, for though I anxiously desired to 
hear tidings of my wife and eldest son, yet in sending my 
younger son to find them, I hazarded the loss of him also. 
It is now seven years since my son left me; five years 
have I passed in travelling through the world in search of 
him : I have been in farthest Greece, and through the 
bounds of Asia, and coasting homewards, I landed here 
in Ephesus, being unwilling to leave any place unsought 
that harbors men ; but this day must end the story of my 
life, and happy should I think myself in my death, if I 
were assured my wife and sons were living." 

Here the hapless ^Egeon ended the account of his mis- 
fortunes ; and the duke, pitying this unfortunate father, 
who had brought upon himself this great peril by his love 
for his lost son, said, if it were not against the laws, which 
his oath and dignity did not permit him to alter, he would 
freely pardon him ; yet, instead of dooming him to instant 
death, as the strict letter of the law required, he would 
give him that day to try if he could beg or borrow the 
money to pay the fine. 

This day of grace did seem no great favor to ^Egeon, 



288 Tales from Shakspeare 

for not knowing any man in Ephesus, there seemed to him 
but little chance that any stranger would lend or give him 
a thousand marks to pay the fine ; and helpless and hope- 
less of any relief, he retired from the presence of the duke 
in the custody of a jailer. 

JEgeon supposed he knew no person in Ephesus ; but at 
the very time he was in danger of losing his life through 
the careful search he was making after his youngest son, 
that son and his eldest son also were both in the city of 
Ephesus. 

^Egeon's sons, besides being exactly alike in face and per- 
son, were both named alike, being both called Antipholus, 
and the two twin slaves were also both named Dromio. 
yEgeon's youngest son, Antipholus of Syracuse, he whom 
the old man had come to Ephesus to seek, happened to 
arrive at Ephesus with his slave Dromio that very same 
day that JEgeon did ; and he being also a merchant of 
Syracuse, he would have been in the same danger that his 
father was, but by good fortune he met a friend who told 
him the peril an old merchant of Syracuse was in, and 
advised him to pass for a merchant of Epidamnum ; this 
Antipholus agreed to do, and he was sorry to hear one of 
his own countrymen was in this danger, but he little thought 
this old merchant was his own father. 

The eldest son of ^Egeon (who must be called Antipholus 
of Ephesus to distinguish him from his brother Antipholus 
of Syracuse) had lived at Ephesus twenty years, and, being 
a rich man, was well able to have paid the money for the 
ransom of his father's life ; but Antipholus knew nothing 
of his father, being so young when he was taken out of the 
sea with his mother by the fishermen that he only remem- 
bered he had been so preserved, but he had no recollection 
of either his father or his mother ; the fishermen who took 
up this Antipholus and his mother and the young slave 



The Comedy of Errors 289 

Dromio, having carried the two children away from her (to 
the great grief of that unhappy lady), intending to sell 
them. 

Antipholus and Dromio were sold by them to duke 
Menaphon, a famous warrior, who was uncle to the duke of 
Ephesus, and he carried the boys to Ephesus when he 
went to visit the duke his nephew. 

The duke of Ephesus taking a liking to young Antiph- 
olus, when he grew up, made him an officer in his army, 
in which he distinguished himself by his great bravery in 
the wars, where he saved the life of his patron the duke, 
who rewarded his merit by marrying him to Adriana, a 
rich lady of Ephesus ; with whom he was living (his slave 
Dromio still attending him) at the time his father came 
there. 

Antipholus of Syracuse, when he parted with his friend 
who advised him to say he came from Epidamnum, gave 
his slave Dromio some money to carry to the inn where 
he intended to dine, and in the meantime he said he 
would walk about and view the city, and observe the 
manners of the people. 

Dromio was a pleasant fellow, and when Antipholus was 
dull and melancholy he used to divert himself with the 
odd humors and merry jests of his slave, so that the free- 
doms of speech he allowed in Dromio were greater than 
is usual between masters and their servants. 

When Antipholus of Syracuse had sent Dromio away, 
he stood awhile thinking over his solitary wanderings in 
search of his mother and his brother, of whom in no 
place where he landed could he hear the least tidings ; 
and he said sorrowfully to himself, " I am like a drop of 
water in the ocean, which seeking to find its fellow drop, 
loses itself in the wide sea. So I unhappily, to find a 
mother and a brother, do lose myself." 



290 Tales from Shakspeare 

While he was thus meditating on his weary travels, 
which had hitherto been so useless, Dromio (as he thought) 
returned. Antipholus, wondering that he came back so 
soon, asked him where he had left the money. Now it 
was not his own Dromio, but the twin-brother that lived 
with Antipholus of Ephesus, that he spoke to. The two 
Dromios and the two Antipholuses were still as much 
alike as ^Egeon had said they were in their infancy ; 
therefore no wonder Antipholus thought it was his own 
slave returned, and asked him why he came back so soon. 
Dromio replied, "My mistress sent me to bid you come to 
dinner. The capon burns, and the pig falls from the spit, 
and the meat will be all cold if you do not come home." — 
"These jests are out of season," said Antipholus : " where 
did you leave the money ? " Dromio still answering, that 
his mistress had sent him to fetch Antipholus to dinner : 
"What mistress?" said Antipholus. "Why, your wor- 
ship's wife, sir," replied Dromio. Antipholus having no 
wife, he was very angry with Dromio, and said, " Because 
I familiarly sometimes chat with you, you presume to jest 
with me in this free manner. I am not in a sportive 
humor now : where is the money ? we being strangers 
here, how dare you trust so great a charge from your own 
custody ? " Dromio hearing his master, as he thought 
him, talk of their being strangers, supposing Antipholus 
was jesting, replied merrily, " I pray you, sir, jest as you 
sit at dinner. I had no charge but to fetch you home, to 
dine with my mistress and her sister." Now Antipholus 
lost all patience, and beat Dromio, who ran home, and 
told his mistress that his master had refused to come to 
dinner, and said that he had no wife. 

Adriana, the wife of Antipholus of Ephesus, was very 
angry when she heard that her husband said he had no 
wife ; for she was of a jealous temper, and she said her 



The Comedy of Errors 291 

husband meant that he loved another lady better than 
herself ; and she began to fret, and say unkind words of 
jealousy and reproach of her husband ; and her sister 
Luciana who lived with her, tried in vain to persuade her 
out of her groundless suspicions. 

Antipholus of Syracuse went to the inn, and found 
Dromio with the money in safety there, and seeing his own 
Dromio, he was going again to chicle him for his free jests, 
when Adriana came up to him, and not doubting but it 
was her husband she saw, she began to reproach him for 
looking strange upon her (as well he might, never having 
seen this angry lady before) ; and then she told him how 
well he loved her before they were married, and that now 
he loved some other lady instead of her. " How comes it 
now, my husband," said she, "O how comes it that I have 
lost your love ? " — " Plead you to me, fair dame ? " said the 
astonished Antipholus. It was in vain, he told her he 
was not her husband, and that he had been in Ephesus 
but two hours ; she insisted on his going home with her, 
and Antipholus at last, being unable to get away, went 
with her to his brother's house, and dined with Adriana 
and her sister, the one calling him husband, and the other 
brother, he, all amazed, thinking he must have been mar- 
ried to her in his sleep or that he was sleeping now. And 
Dromio, who followed them, was no less surprised, for the 
cook-maid, who was his brother's wife, also claimed him 
for her husband. 

While Antipholus of Syracuse was dining with his 
brother's wife, his brother, the real husband, returned 
home to dinner with his slave Dromio ; but the servants 
would not open the door, because their mistress had 
ordered them not to admit any company ; and when they 
repeatedly knocked, and said they were Antipholus and 
Dromio, the maids laughed at them, and said that Antiph- 



292 Tales from Shakspeare 

olus was at dinner with their mistress, and Dromio was 
in the kitchen ; and though they almost knocked the door 
down, they could not gain admittance, and at last Antiph- 
olus went away very angry, and strangely surprised at 
hearing a gentleman was dining with his wife. 

When Antipholus of Syracuse had finished his dinner, 
he was so perplexed at the lady's still persisting in calling 
him husband, and at hearing that Dromio had also been 
claimed by the cook-maid, that he left the house, as soon 
as he could find any pretence to get away ; for though he 
was very much pleased with Luciana, the sister, yet the 
jealous-tempered Adriana he disliked very much, nor was 
Dromio at all better satisfied with his fair wife in the 
kitchen : therefore both master and man were glad to get 
away from their new wives as fast as they could. 

The moment Antipholus of Syracuse had left the house, 
he was met by a goldsmith, who mistaking him, as Adriana 
had done, for Antipholus of Ephesus, gave him a gold 
chain, calling him by his name ; and when Antipholus 
would have refused the chain, saying it did not belong to 
him, the goldsmith replied he made it by his own orders ; 
and went away, leaving the chain in the hands of Antiph- 
olus, who ordered his man Dromio to get his things on 
board a ship, not choosing to stay in a place any longer 
where he met with such strange adventures that he surely 
thought himself bewitched. 

The goldsmith who had given the chain .to the wrong 
Antipholus was arrested immediately after for a sum of 
money he owed ; and Antipholus, the married brother, to 
whom the goldsmith thought he had given the chain, hap- 
pened to come to the place where the officer was arresting 
the goldsmith, who, when he saw Antipholus, asked him 
to pay for the gold chain he had just delivered to him, the 
price amounting to nearly the same sum as that for which 



The Comedy of Errors 293 

he had been arrested. Antipholus denying the having 
received the chain, and the goldsmith persisting to declare 
that he had but a few minutes before given it to him, they 
disputed this matter a long time, both thinking they were 
right : for Antipholus knew the goldsmith never gave him 
the chain, and so like were the two brothers, the goldsmith 
was as certain he had delivered the chain into his hands, 
till at last the officer took the goldsmith away to prison 
for the debt he owed, and at the same time the goldsmith 
made the officer arrest Antipholus for the price of the 
chain ; so that at the conclusion of their dispute, Antipho- 
lus and the merchant were both taken away to prison 
together. 

As Antipholus was going to prison, he met Dromio of 
Syracuse, his brother's slave, and mistaking him for his 
own, he ordered him to go to Adriana his wife, and tell her 
to send the money for which he was arrested. Dromio, 
wondering that his master should send him back to the 
strange house where he dined, and from which he had just 
before been in such haste to depart, did not dare to reply, 
though he came to tell his master the ship was ready to 
sail : for he saw Antipholus was in no humor to be jested 
with. Therefore he went away, grumbling within himself, 
that he must return to Adriana's house, "Where," said he, 
" Dowsabel claims me for a husband : but I must go, for 
servants must obey their masters' commands." 

Adriana gave him the money, and as Dromio was re- 
turning, he met Antipholus of Syracuse, who was still in 
amaze at the surprising adventures he met with ; for his 
brother being well known in Ephesus, there was hardly a 
man he met in the streets but saluted him as an old ac- 
quaintance : some offered him money which they said was 
owing to him, some invited him to come and see them, and 
some gave him thanks for kindnesses they said he had done 



294 Tales from Shakspeare 

them, all mistaking him for his brother. A tailor showed 
him some silks he had bought for him, and insisted upon 
taking measure of him for some clothes. 

Antipholus began to think he was among a nation of 
sorcerers and witches, and Dromio did not at all relieve 
his master from his bewildered thoughts, by asking him 
how he got free from the officer who was carrying him to 
prison, and giving him the purse of gold which Adriana 
had sent to pay the debt with. This talk of Dromio's of 
the arrest and of a prison, and of the money he had 
brought from Adriana, perfectly confounded Antipholus, 
and he said, " This fellow Dromio is certainly distracted, 
and we wander here in illusions ; " and quite terrified at 
his own confused thoughts, he cried out, " Some blessed 
power deliver us from this strange place ! " 

And now another stranger came up to him, and she was 
a lady, and she too called him Antipholus, and told him he 
had dined with her that day, and asked him for a gold 
chain which she said he had promised to give her. Antiph- 
olus now lost all patience, and calling her a sorceress, 
he denied that he had ever promised her a chain, or dined 
with her, or had even seen her face before that moment. 
The lady persisted in affirming he had dined with her, 
and had promised her a chain, which Antipholus still 
denying, she further said, that she had given him a valu- 
able ring, and if he would not give her the gold chain, she 
insisted upon having her own ring again. On this Antiph- 
olus became quite frantic, and again calling her sorceress 
and witch, and denying all knowledge of her or her ring, 
ran away from her, leaving her astonished at his words and 
his wild looks, for nothing to her appeared more certain 
than that he had dined with her, and that she had given 
him a ring, in consequence of his promising to make her a 
present of a gold chain. But this lady had fallen into the 



The Comedy of Errors 295 

same mistake the others had done, for she had taken him 
for his brother : the married Antipholus had done all the 
things she taxed this Antipholus with. 

When the married Antipholus was denied entrance into 
his own house (those within supposing him to be already 
there), he had gone away very angry, believing it to be 
one of his wife's jealous freaks, to which she was very 
subject, and remembering that she had often falsely 
accused him of visiting other ladies, he, to be revenged 
on her for shutting him out of his own house, determined 
to go and dine with this lady, and she receiving him with 
great civility, and his wife having so highly offended him, 
Antipholus promised to give her a gold chain, which he 
had intended as a present for his wife ; it was the same 
chain which the goldsmith by mistake had given to his 
brother. The lady liked so well the thoughts of having 
a fine gold chain, that she gave the married Antipholus a 
ring ; which when, as she supposed (taking his brother for 
him), he denied, and said he did not know her, and left 
her in such a wild passion, she began to think he was 
certainly out of his senses ; and presently she resolved to 
go and tell Adriana that her husband was mad. And 
while she was telling it to Adriana, he came, attended by 
the jailer (who allowed him to come home to get the 
money to pay the debt), for the purse of money, which 
Adriana had sent by Dromio, and he had delivered to the 
other Antipholus. 

Adriana believed the story the lady told her of her 
husband's madness must be true, when he reproached her 
for shutting him out of his own house ; and remembering 
how he had protested all dinner-time that he was not her 
husband, and had never been in Ephesus till that day, she 
had no doubt that he was mad ; she therefore paid the 
jailer the money, and having discharged him, she ordered 



296 Tales from Shakspeare 

her servants to bind her husband with ropes, and had him 
conveyed into a dark room, and sent for a doctor to come 
and cure him of his madness : Antipholus all the while 
hotly exclaiming against this false accusation, which the 
exact likeness he bore to his brother had brought upon 
him. But his rage only the more confirmed them in the 
belief that he was mad ; and Dromio persisting in the 
story, they bound him also, and took him away along with 
his master. 

Soon after Adriana had put her husband into confine- 
ment, a servant came to tell her that Antipholus and Dromio 
must have broken loose from their keepers, for that they 
were both walking at liberty in the next street. On hear- 
ing this, Adriana ran out to fetch him home, taking some 
people with her to secure her husband again ; and her 
sister went along with her. When they came to the gates 
of a convent in their neighborhood, there they saw Antiph- 
olus and Dromio, as they thought, being again deceived by 
the likeness of the twin-brothers. Antipholus of Syra- 
cuse was still beset with the perplexities this likeness had 
brought upon him. The chain which the goldsmith had 
given him was about his neck, and the goldsmith was re- 
proaching him for denying that he had it, and refusing to 
pay for it, and Antipholus was protesting that the gold- 
smith freely gave him the chain in the morning, and that 
from that hour he had never seen the goldsmith again. 

And now Adriana came up to him and claimed him as 
her lunatic husband, who had escaped from his keepers ; 
and the men she brought with her were going to lay vio- 
lent hands on Antipholus and Dromio ; but they ran into 
the convent, and Antipholus begged the abbess to give him 
shelter in her house. 

And now came out the lady abbess herself to inquire into 
the cause of this disturbance. She was a grave and vener- 



The Comedy of Errors 297 

able lady, and wise to judge of what she saw, and she 
would not too hastily give up the man who had sought 
protection in her house ; so she strictly questioned the wife 
about the story she told of her husband's madness, and she 
said, " What is the cause of this sudden distemper of your 
husband's ? Has he lost his wealth at sea ? Or is it the 
death of some dear friend that has disturbed his mind?" 
Adriana replied, that no such things as these had been the 
cause. " Perhaps," said the abbess, " he has fixed his 
affections on some other lady than you his wife ; and that 
has driven him to this state." Adriana said she had long 
thought the love of some other lady was the cause of his 
frequent absences from home. Now it was not his love for 
another, but the teasing jealousy of his wife's temper, that 
often obliged Antipholus to leave his home ; and (the abbess 
suspecting this from the vehemence of Adriana's manner) 
to learn the truth, she said, " You should have reprehended 
him for this." — " Why, so I did," replied Adriana. " Ay," 
said the abbess," but perhaps not enough." Adriana, will- 
ing to convince the abbess that she had said enough to 
Antipholus on this subject, replied, "It was the constant 
subject of our conversation : in bed I would not let him 
sleep for speaking of it. At table I would not let him eat 
for speaking of it. When I was alone with him, I talked 
of nothing else ; and in company I gave him frequent hints 
of it. Still all my talk was how vile and bad it was in him 
to love any lady better than me." 

The lady abbess, having drawn this full confession from 
the jealous Adriana, now said, " And therefore comes it 
that your husband is mad. The venomous clamor of a 
jealous woman is a more deadly poison than a mad dog's 
tooth. It seems his sleep was hindered by your railing ; 
no wonder that his head is light : and his meat was sauced 
with your upbraidings ; unquiet meals make ill digestions, 



298 Tales from Shakspeare 

and that has thrown him into this fever. You say his 
sports were disturbed by your brawls ; being debarred 
from the enjoyment of society and recreation, what could 
ensue but dull melancholy and comfortless despair ? The 
consequence is, then, that your jealous fits have made your 
husband mad." 

Luciana would have excused her sister, saying, she 
always reprehended her husband mildly ; and she said to 
her sister, "Why do you hear these rebukes without an- 
swering them ?" But the abbess had made her so plainly 
perceive her fault, that she could only answer, " She has 
betrayed me to my own reproof." 

Adriana, though ashamed of her own conduct, still in- 
sisted on having her husband delivered up to her ; but the 
abbess would suffer no person to enter her house, nor 
would she deliver up this unhappy man to the care of the 
jealous wife, determining herself to use gentle means for 
his recovery, and she retired into her house again, and 
ordered her gates to be shut against them. 

During the course of this eventful day, in which so 
many errors had happened from the likeness the twin- 
brothers bore to each other, old ^Egeon's day of grace was 
passing away, it being now near sunset ; and at sunset he 
was doomed to die, if he could not pay the money. 

The place of his execution was near this convent, and 
here he arrived just as the abbess retired into the convent ; 
the duke attending in person, that if any offered to pay the 
money, he might be present to pardon him. 

Adriana stopped this melancholy procession, and cried 
out to the duke for justice, telling him that the abbess had 
refused to deliver up her lunatic husband to her care. 
While she was speaking, her real husband and his servant 
Dromio, who had got loose, came before the duke to de- 
mand justice, complaining that his wife had confined him 



The Comedy of Errors 299 

on a false charge of lunacy ; and telling in what manner 
he had broken his bands, and eluded the vigilance of his 
keepers. Aclriana was strangely surprised to see her hus- 
band, when she thought he had been within the convent. 

JEgQon, seeing his son, concluded this was the son who 
had left him to go in search of his mother and his brother ; 
and he felt secure that this dear son would readily pay the 
money demanded for his ransom. He therefore spoke to 
Antipholus in words of fatherly affection, with joyful hope 
that he should now be released. But to the utter aston- 
ishment of yEgeon, his son denied all knowledge of him, 
as well he might, for this Antipholus had never seen his 
father since they were separated in the storm in his infancy ; 
but while the poor old ^Egeon was in vain endeavoring to 
make his son acknowledge him, thinking surely that either 
his griefs and the anxieties he had suffered had so strangely 
altered him that his son did not know him, or else that he 
was ashamed to acknowledge his father in his misery ; in the 
midst of this perplexity, the lady abbess and the other An- 
tipholus and Dromio came out, and the wondering Adriana 
saw two husbands and two Dromios standing before her. 

And now these riddling errors, which had so perplexed 
them all, were clearly made out. When the duke saw the 
two Antipholuses and the two Dromios both so exactly 
alike, he at once conjectured aright of these seeming mys- 
teries, for he remembered the story ^Egeon had told him 
in the morning ; and he said, these men must be the two 
sons of yEgeon and their twin slaves. 

But now an unlooked-for joy indeed completed the his- 
tory of ^Egeon ; and the tale he had in the morning told in 
sorrow, and under sentence of death, before the setting sun 
went down was brought to a happy conclusion, for the vener- 
able lady abbess made herself known to be the long-lost wife 
of ^Egeon, and the fond mother of the two Antipholuses. 



300 Tales from Shakspeare 

When the fishermen took the eldest Antipholus and 
Dromio away from her, she entered a nunnery, and by her 
wise and virtuous conduct she was at length made lady 
abbess of this convent, and in discharging the rites of 
hospitality to an unhappy stranger, she had unknowingly 
protected her own son. 

Joyful congratulations and affectionate greetings between 
these long- separated parents and their children made them 
for a while forget that ^Egeon was yet under sentence of 
death ; but when they were become a little calm, Antipho- 
lus of Ephesus offered the duke the ransom money for his 
father's life ; but the duke freely pardoned yEgeon, and 
would not take the money. And the duke went with the 
abbess and her newly-found husband and children into the 
convent, to hear this happy family discourse at leisure of 
the blessed ending of their adverse fortunes. And the 
two Dromios' humble joy must not be forgotten ; they had 
their congratulations and greetings, too, and each Dromio 
pleasantly complimented his brother on his good looks, 
being well pleased to see his own person (as in a glass) 
show so handsome in his brother. 

Adriana had so well profited by the good counsel of her 
mother-in-law, that she never after cherished unjust suspi- 
cions, or was jealous of her husband. 

Antipholus of Syracuse married the fair Luciana, the 
sister of his brother's wife ; and the good old ^Egeon, with 
his wife and sons, lived at Ephesus many years. . Nor did 
the unravelling of these perplexities so entirely remove 
every ground of mistake for the future, but that some- 
times, to remind them of adventures past, comical blunders 
would happen, and the one Antipholus, and the one Dro- 
mio, be mistaken for the other, making all together a pleas- 
ant and diverting Comedy of Errors. 




Pericles 



PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE 

Pericles, prince of Tyre, became a voluntary exile from 
his dominions to avert the dreadful calamities which Antio- 
chus, the wicked emperor of Greece, threatened to bring 
upon his subjects and city of Tyre, in revenge for a dis- 
covery which the prince had made of a shocking deed which 
the emperor had done in secret ; as commonly it proves 
dangerous to pry into the hidden crimes of great ones. 
Leaving the government of his people in the hands of his 
able and honest minister, Helicanus, Pericles set sail from 
Tyre, thinking to absent himself till the wrath of Antiochus, 
who was mighty, should be appeased. 

The first place which the prince directed his course to 
was Tarsus, and hearing that the city of Tarsus was at that 
time suffering under a severe famine, he took with him 
store of provisions for its relief. On his arrival he found 
the city reduced to the utmost distress ; and, he coming 
like a messenger from heaven with his unhoped-for succor, 
Cleon, the governor of Tarsus, welcomed him with bound- 
less thanks. Pericles had not been here many days, before 
letters came from his faithful minister, warning him that it 
was not safe for him to stay at Tarsus, for Antiochus knew 
of his abode, and by secret emissaries despatched for that 
purpose sought his life. Upon receipt of these letters 
Pericles put out to sea again, amidst the blessings and 
prayers of a whole people who had been fed by his bounty. 

He had not sailed far, when his ship was overtaken by 
a dreadful storm, and every man on board perished except 
Pericles, who was cast by the sea-waves naked on an 

3°3 



304 Tales from Shakspeare 

unknown shore, where he had not wandered long before he 
met with some poor fishermen, who invited him to their 
homes, giving him clothes and provisions. The fishermen 
told Pericles the name of their country was Pentapolis, and 
that their king was Simonides, commonly called the good 
Simonides, because of his peaceable reign and good govern- 
ment. From them he also learned that king Simonides 
had a fair young daughter, and that the following day was 
her birthday, when a grand tournament was to be held at 
court, many princes and knights being come from all parts 
to try their skill in arms for the love of Thaisa, this fair 
princess. While the prince was listening to this account, 
and secretly lamenting the loss of his good armor, which 
disabled him from making one among these valiant knights, 
another fisherman brought in a complete suit of armor 
that he had taken out of the sea with his fishing-net, which 
proved to be the very armor he had lost. When Pericles 
beheld his own armor, he said, " Thanks, Fortune ; after 
all my crosses, you give me somewhat to repair myself. 
This armor was bequeathed to me by my dead father, for 
whose dear sake I have so loved it, that whithersoever I 
went, still I have kept it by me, and the rough sea that parted 
it from me, having now become calm, hath given it back 
again, for which I thank it, for, since I have my father's 
gift again, I think my shipwreck no misfortune." 

The next day Pericles, clad in his brave father's armor, 
repaired to the royal court of Simonides, where he per- 
formed wonders at the tournament, vanquishing with ease 
all the brave knights and valiant princes who contended 
with him in arms for the honor of Thaisa's love. When 
brave warriors contended at court-tournaments for the love 
of kings' daughters, if one proved sole victor over all the 
rest, it was usual for the great lady for whose sake these 
deeds of valor were undertaken, to bestow all her respect 



Pericles 305 

upon the conqueror, and Thaisa did not depart from this 
custom, for she presently dismissed all the princes and 
knights whom Pericles had vanquished, and distinguished 
him by her especial favor and regard, crowning him with 
the wreath of victory, as king of that day's happiness ; and 
Pericles became a most passionate lover of this beauteous 
princess from the first moment he beheld her. 

The good Simonides so well approved of the valor and 
noble qualities of Pericles, who was indeed a most accom- 
plished gentleman, and well learned in all excellent arts, 
that though he knew not the rank of this royal stranger 
(for Pericles for fear of Antiochus gave out that he was a 
private gentleman of Tyre), yet did not Simonides disdain 
to accept of the valiant unknown for a son-in-law, when he 
perceived his daughter's affections were firmly fixed upon 
him. 

Pericles had not been many months married to Thaisa, 
before he received intelligence that his enemy Antiochus 
was dead ; and that his subjects of Tyre, impatient of his 
long absence, threatened to revolt, and talked of placing 
Helicanus upon his vacant throne. This news came from 
Helicanus himself, who, being a loyal subject to his royal 
master, would not accept of the high dignity offered him, 
but sent to let Pericles know their intentions, that he might 
return home and resume his lawful right. It was matter of 
great surprise and joy to Simonides, to find that his son-in- 
law (the obscure knight) was the renowned prince of Tyre ; 
yet again he regretted that he was not the private gentle- 
man he supposed him to be, seeing that he must now part 
both with his admired son-in-law and his beloved daughter, 
whom he feared to trust to the perils of the sea, because 
Thaisa was not strong ; and Pericles himself wished her 
to remain with her father till she grew stronger, but the 
poor lady so earnestly desired to go with her husband, that 



jo6 Tales from Shakspeare 

at last they consented, hoping she would reach Tyre with- 
out mischance. 

The sea was no friendly element to unhappy Pericles, 
for long before they reached Tyre another dreadful tempest 
arose, which so terrified Thaisa that she was taken ill, and 
in a short space of time her nurse Lychorida came to Peri- 
cles with a little child in her arms, to tell the prince the sad 
tidings that his wife died the moment her little babe was 
born. She held the babe towards its father, saying, " Here 
is a thing too young for such a place. This is the child of 
your dead queen." No tongue can tell the dreadful suffer- 
ings of Pericles when he heard his wife was dead. As 
soon as he could speak, he said, " O you gods, why do you 
make us love your goodly gifts, and then snatch those gifts 
away?" — " Patience, good sir," said Lychorida, " here is 
all that is left alive of our dead queen, a little daughter, 
and for your child's sake be more manly. Patience, good 
sir, even for the sake of this precious charge." Pericles 
took the new-born infant in his arms, and he said to the 
little babe, " Now may your life be mild, for a more blus- 
terous birth had never babe ! May your condition be mild 
and gentle, for you have had the rudest welcome that ever 
prince's child did meet with ! May that which follows be 
happy, for you have had as chiding a nativity as fire, air, 
water, earth, and heaven could make to herald you into the 
world ! Even at the first, your loss," meaning in the death 
of her mother, "is more than all the joys which you shall 
find upon this earth, to which you are come a new visitor, 
shall be able to recompense." 

The storm still continuing to rage furiously, and the sail- 
ors having a superstition that while a dead body remained 
in the ship the storm would never cease, they came to 
Pericles to demand that his queen should be thrown over- 
board ; and they said," What courage, sir ? God save you ! " 



Pericles 307 

"Courage enough," said the sorrowing prince: "I do not 
fear the storm ; it has clone to me its worst ; yet for the 
love of this poor infant, this fresh new seafarer, I wish the 
storm was over." "Sir," said the sailors, "your queen 
must overboard. The sea works high, the wind is loud, 
and the storm will not abate till the ship be cleared of the 
dead." Though Pericles knew how weak and unfounded 
this superstition was, yet he patiently submitted, saying, 
"As you think meet. Then she must overboard, most 
wretched queen ! " And 'now this unhappy prince went 
to take a last view of his dear wife, and as he looked on 
his Thaisa, he said, "A terrible trial hast thou had, my 
dear ; no light, no fire ; the unfriendly elements forgot thee 
utterly, nor have I time to bring thee hallowed to thy grave, 
but must cast thee scarcely coffined into the sea, where for 
a monument upon thy bones the humming waters must 
overwhelm thy corpse, lying with simple shells. O Lycho- 
rida, bid Nestor bring me spices, ink, and paper, my casket 
and my jewels, and bid Nicandor bring me the satin coffin. 
Lay the babe upon the pillow, and go about this suddenly, 
Lychorida, while I say a priestly farewell to my Thaisa." 

They brought Pericles a large chest, in which (wrapped 
in a satin shroud) he placed his queen, and sweet-smelling 
spices he strewed over her, and beside her he placed rich 
jewels, and a written paper, telling who she was, and pray- 
ing if haply any one should find the chest which contained 
the body of his wife, they would give her burial : and then, 
with his own hands, he cast the chest into the sea. When 
the storm was over, Pericles ordered the sailors to make 
for Tarsus. "For," said Pericles, "the babe cannot hold 
out till we come to Tyre. At Tarsus I will leave it at 
careful nursing." 

After that tempestuous night when Thaisa was thrown 
into the sea, and while it was yet early morning, as Ceri- 



308 Tales from Shakspeare 

mon, a worthy gentleman of Ephesus and a most skilful 
physician, was standing by the sea-side, his servants brought 
to him a chest, which they said the sea-waves had thrown 
on the land. "I never saw," said one of them, "so huge 
a billow as cast it on our shore." Cerimon ordered the 
chest to be conveyed to his own house, and when it was 
opened he beheld with wonder the body of a young and 
lovely lady ; and the sweet-smelling spices and rich casket 
of jewels made him conclude it was some great person 
who was thus strangely entombed ; searching farther, he 
discovered a paper, from which he learned that the corpse 
which lay as dead before him had been a queen, and wife 
to Pericles, prince of Tyre ; and much admiring at the 
strangeness of that accident, and more pitying the husband 
who had lost this sweet lady, he said, " If you are living, 
Pericles, you have a heart that even cracks with woe." 
Then observing attentively Thaisa's face, he saw how fresh 
and unlike death her looks were, and he said, " They were 
too hasty that threw you into the sea : " for he did not 
believe her to be dead. He ordered a fire to be made, and 
proper cordials to be brought, and soft music to be played, 
which might help to calm her amazed spirits if she should 
revive ; and he said to those who crowded round her, won- 
dering at what they saw, " I pray you, gentlemen, give her 
air ; this queen will live ; she has not been entranced above 
five hours ; and see, she begins to blow into life again ; she 
is alive ; behold, her eyelids move ; this fair creature will 
live to make us weep to hear her fate." Thaisa had never 
died, but after the birth of her little baby had fallen into a 
deep swoon, which made all that saw her conclude her to 
be dead ; and now by the care of this kind gentleman she 
once more revived to light and life ; and opening her eyes, 
she said, " Where am I ? Where is my lord ? What world 
is this ? " By gentle degrees Cerimon let her understand 



Pericles 309 

what had befallen her ; and when he thought she was 
enough recovered to bear the sight, he showed her the 
paper written by her husband, and the jewels ; and she 
looked on the paper, and said, " It is my lord's writing. 
That I was shipped at sea, I well remember, but whether 
there my babe was born, by the holy gods I cannot 
rightly say : but since my wedded lord I never shall see 
again, I will put on a vestal livery, and never more have 
joy." "Madam," said Cerimon, "if you purpose as you 
speak, the temple of Diana is not far distant from hence ; 
there you may abide as a vestal. Moreover, if you please, 
a niece of mine shall there attend you." This proposal 
was accepted with thanks by Thaisa ; and when she was 
perfectly recovered, Cerimon placed her in the temple of 
Diana, where she became a vestal or priestess of that god- 
dess, and passed her days in sorrowing for her husband's 
supposed loss, and in the most devout exercises of those 
times. 

Pericles carried his young daughter (whom he named 
Marina, because she was born at sea) to Tarsus, intending 
to leave her with Cleon, the governor of that city, and his 
wife Dionysia, thinking, for the good he had done to them 
at the time of their famine, they would be kind to his little 
motherless daughter. When Cleon saw prince Pericles, 
and heard of the great loss which had befallen him, he 
said, " O your sweet queen, that it had pleased Heaven 
you could have brought her hither to have blessed my eyes 
with the sight of her ! " Pericles replied, " We must obey 
the powers above us. Should I rage and roar as the sea 
does in which my Thaisa lies, yet the end must be as it is. 
My gentle babe, Marina here, I must charge your charity 
with her. I leave her the infant of your care, beseeching 
you to give her princely training." And then turning to 
Cleon's wife, Dionysia, he said, " Good madam, make me 



310 Tales from Shakspeare 

blessed in your care in bringing up my child : and she an- 
swered, " I have a child myself who shall not be more dear 
to my respect than yours, my lord ; " and Cleon made the 
like promise, saying, " Your noble services, prince Pericles, 
in feeding my whole people with your corn (for which in 
their prayers they daily remember you) must in your child 
be thought on. If I should neglect your child, my whole 
people that were by you relieved would force me to my 
duty ; but if to that I need a spur, the gods revenge it on 
me and mine to the end of generation." Pericles, being 
thus assured that his child would be carefully attended to, 
left her to the protection of Cleon and his wife Dionysia, 
and with her left the nurse Lyghorida. When he went 
away, the little Marina knew not her loss, but Lychorida 
wept sadly at parting with her royal master. " O, no tears, 
Lychorida," said Pericles: "no tears; look to your little 
mistress, on whose grace you may depend hereafter." 

Pericles arrived in safety at Tyre, and was once more 
settled in the quiet possession of his throne, while his wo- 
ful queen, whom he thought dead, remained at Ephesus. 
Her little babe Marina, whom this hapless mother had never 
seen, was brought up by Cleon in a manner suitable to 
her high birth. He gave her the most careful education, 
so that by the time Marina attained the age of fourteen 
years the most deeply -learned men were not more studied 
in the learning of those times than was Marina. She 
sang like one immortal, and danced as goddess-like, and 
with her needle she was so skilful that she seemed to 
compose nature's own shapes, in birds, fruits, or flowers, 
the natural roses being scarcely more like to each other 
than they were to Marina's silken flowers. But when she 
had gained from education all these graces, which made her 
the general wonder, Dionysia, the wife of Cleon, became 
her mortal enemy from jealousy, by reason that her own 



Pericles 311 

daughter, from the slowness of her mind, was not able to 
attain to that perfection wherein Marina excelled ; and 
finding that all praise was bestowed on Marina, whilst her 
daughter, who was of the same age and had been educated 
with the same care as Marina, though not with the same 
success, was in comparison disregarded, she formed a proj- 
ect to remove Marina out of the way, vainly imagining 
that her untoward daughter would be more respected when 
Marina was no more seen. To encompass this she em- 
ployed a man to murder Marina, and she well timed her 
wicked design, when Lychorida, the faithful nurse, had just 
died. Dionysia was discoursing with the man she had 
commanded to commit this murder, when the young Ma- 
rina was weeping over the dead Lychorida. Leonine, the 
man she employed to do this bad deed, though he was a 
very wicked man, could hardly be persuaded to undertake 
it, so had Marina won all hearts to love her. He said, 
"She is a goodly creature!" "The fitter then the gods 
should have her," replied her merciless enemy : "here she 
comes weeping for the death of her nurse Lychorida : are 
you resolved to obey me ? " Leonine, fearing to disobey 
her, replied, "I am resolved." And so, in that one short 
sentence, was the matchless Marina doomed to an untimely 
death. She now approached, with a basket of flowers in 
her hand, which she said she would daily strew over the 
grave of good Lychorida. The purple violet and the mari- 
gold should as a carpet hang upon her grave, while summer 
days did last. " Alas, for me ! " she said, " poor unhappy 
maid, born in a tempest, when my mother died. This world 
to me is like a lasting storm, hurrying me from my friends." 
"How now, Marina," said the dissembling Dionysia, "do 
you weep alone ? How does it chance my daughter is not 
with you ? Do not sorrow for Lychorida, you have a nurse 
in me. Your beauty is quite changed with this unprofit- 



3 12 Tales from Shakspeare 

able woe. Come, give me your flowers, the sea-air will 
spoil them ; and walk with Leonine : the air is fine, and 
will enliven you. Come, Leonine, take her by the arm, 
and walk with her." "No, madam," said Marina, "I pray 
you let me not deprive you of your servant : " for Leonine 
was one of Dionysia's attendants. " Come, come," said 
this artful woman, who wished for a pretence to leave her 
alone with Leonine, " I love the prince, your father, and I 
love you. We every day expect your father here ; and 
when he comes, and finds you so changed by grief from 
the paragon of beauty we reported you, he will think we 
have taken no care of you. Go, I pray you, walk, and be 
cheerful once again. Be careful of that excellent com- 
plexion, which stole the hearts of old and young." Marina, 
being thus importuned, said, " Well, I will go, but yet I 
have no desire to it." As Dionysia walked away, she said 
to Leonine, "Remember what I have said!" — shocking 
words, for their meaning was that he should remember to 
kill Marina. 

Marina looked towards the sea, her birthplace, and said, 
"Is the wind westerly that blows?" "South-west," re- 
plied Leonine. "When I was born the wind was north," 
said she : and then the storm and tempest, and all her 
father's sorrows, and her mother's death, came full into 
her mind ; and she said, " My father, as Lychorida told 
me, did never fear, but cried, Courage, good seamen, to the 
sailors, galling his princely hands with the ropes, and, 
clasping to the masts, he endured a sea that almost split 
the deck." "When was this?" said Leonine. "When I 
was born," replied Marina : " never were wind and waves 
more violent; " and then she described the storm, the action 
of the sailors, the boatswain's whistle, and the loud call of 
the master, "which," said she, "trebled the confusion of 
the ship." Lychorida had so often recounted to Marina 



Pericles 313 

the story of her hapless birth that these things seemed 
ever present to her imagination. But here Leonine inter- 
rupted her with desiring her to say her prayers. "What 
mean you ?" said Marina, who began to fear, she knew not 
why. " If you require a little space for prayer, I grant it," 
said Leonine ; "but be not tedious ; the gods are quick of 
ear, and I am sworn to do my work in haste." "Will you 
kill me ?" said Marina: "alas! why?" "To satisfy my 
lady," replied Leonine. " Why would she have me killed ? " 
said Marina : " now, as I can remember, I never hurt her 
in all my life. I never spake bad word, nor did any ill turn 
to any living creature. Believe me now, I never killed a 
mouse, nor hurt a fly. I trod upon a worm once against 
my will, but I wept for it. How have I offended ? " The 
murderer replied, " My commission is not to reason on the 
deed, but to do it." And he was just going to kill her, 
when certain pirates happened to land at that very moment, 
who seeing Marina, bore her off as a prize to their ship. 

The pirate who had made Marina his prize carried her to 
Mitylene, and sold her for a slave, where, though in that 
humble condition, Marina soon became known throughout 
the whole city of Mitylene for her beauty and her virtues ; 
and the person to whom she was sold became rich by the 
money she earned for him. She taught music, dancing, 
and fine needlework, and the money she got by her schol- 
ars she gave to her master and mistress ; and the fame of 
her learning and her great industry came to the knowledge 
of Lysimachus, a young nobleman who was governor of 
Mitylene ; and Lysimachus went himself to the house where 
Marina dwelt, to see this paragon of excellence, whom all 
the city praised so highly. Her conversation delighted 
Lysimachus beyond measure, for though he had heard 
much of this admired maiden, he did not expect to find her 
so sensible a lady, so virtuous, and so good, as he per- 



314 Tales from Shakspeare 

ceived Marina to be ; and he left her, saying, he hoped 
she would persevere in her industrious and virtuous course, 
and that if ever she heard from him again it should be for 
her good. Lysimachus thou s . ' Marina such a miracle for 
sense, fine breeding, and excellen qualities, as well as for 
beauty and all outward graces, that he wished to marry her, 
and notwithstanding her humble situation, he hoped to 
find that her birth was noble; but ever when they asked 
her parentage she would sit still and weep. 

Meantime, at Tarsus, Leonine, fearing the anger of Dio- 
nysia^told her he had killed Marina ; and that wicked woman 
gave out that she was dead, and made a pretended funeral 
for her, and erected a stately monument ; and shortly after 
Pericles, accompanied by his loyal minister Helicanus, made 
a voyage from Tyre to Tarsus, on purpose to see his daugh- 
ter, intending to take her home with him : and he never 
having beheld her since he left her an infant in the care of 
Cleon and his wife, how did this good prince rejoice at the 
thought of seeing this dear child of his buried queen ! but 
when they told him Marina was dead, and showed the monu- 
ment they had erected for her, great was the misery this 
most wretched father endured ; and not being able to bear 
the sight of that country where his last hope and only mem- 
ory of his dear Thaisa was entombed, he took ship, and 
hastily departed from Tarsus. From the day he entered 
the ship a dull and heavy melancholy seized him. He never 
spoke, and seemed totally insensible to everything around 
him. 

Sailing from Tarsus to Tyre, the ship in its course passed 
by Mitylene, where Marina dwelt ; the governor of which 
place, Lysimachus, observing this royal vessel from the 
shore, and desirous of knowing who was on board, went in 
a barge to the side of the ship, to satisfy his curiosity. 
Helicanus received him very courteously and told him that 



Pericles 315 

the ship came from Tyre, and that they were conducting 
thither Pericles, their prince ; " A man, sir," said Helicanus, 
" who has not spoken to any one these three months, nor 
taken any sustenance, h\* : - /jrtfo prolong his grief ; it would 
be tedious to repeat thj r whole ground of his distemper, 
but the main springs from the loss of a beloved daughter 
and a wife." Lysimachus begged to see this afflicted prince, 
and when he beheld Pericles, he saw he had been once a 
goodly person, and he said to him, " Sir king, all hail, the 
gods preserve you ; hail, royal sir ! " But in vain Lysima- 
chus spoke to him ; Pericles made no answer, nor did he 
appear to perceive any stranger approached. And then 
Lysimachus bethought him of the peerless maid Marina, 
that haply with her sweet tongue she might win some answer 
from the silent prince ; and with the consent of Helicanus 
he sent for Marina, and when she entered the ship in which 
her own father sat motionless with grief, they welcomed her 
on board as if they had known she was their princt3s ; and 
they cried, " She is a gallant lady." Lysimachus was well 
pleased to hear their commendations, and he said, " She J3 
such a one, that were I well assured she came of noble 
birth, I would wish no better choice, and think me rarely 
blessed in a wife." And then he addressed her in courtly 
terms, as if the lowly-seeming maid had been the high-born 
lady he wished to find her, calling her Fair and beautiful 
Marina, telling her a great prince on board that ship had 
fallen into a sad and mournful silence ; and, as if Marina 
had the power of conferring health and felicity, he begged 
she would undertake to cure the royal stranger of his mel- 
ancholy. "Sir," said Marina, "J will use my utmost skill 
in his recovery, provided none but I and my maid be suf- 
fered to come near him." 

She, who at Mitylene had so carefully concealed her birth, 
ashamed to tell that one of royal ancestry was now a slave, 



. i6 Tales from Shakspeare 

. rst began to speak to Pericles of the wayward changes in 
er own fate, telling him from what a high estate herself 
had fallen. As if she had known it was her royal father 
he stood before, all the words she spoke were of her own 
sorrows ; but her reason for so doing was, that she knew 
nothing more wins the attention of the unfortunate than 
the recital of some sad calamity to match their own. The 
sound of her sweet voice aroused the drooping prince ; he 
lifted up his eyes, which had been so long fixed and motion- 
less ; and Marina, who was the perfect image of her mother, 
presented to his amazed sight the features of his dead queen. 
The long-silent prince was once more heard to speak. 
" My dearest wife," said the awakened Pericles, "was like 
this maid, and such a one might my daughter have been. 
My qv 's square brows, her stature to an inch, as wand- 
like ; silver-voiced, her eyes as jewel-like. Where 
6r Ag maid ? Report your parentage. I think 
had been tossed from wrung to injury, and 
nought your griefs would equal mine, if both 
.ned." "Some such thing I said," replied Ma- 
and said no more than what my thoughts did warrant 
.is likely." "Tell me your story," answered Pericles; 
if I find you have known the thousandth part of my 
endurance, you have borne your sorrows like a man, and I 
have suffered like a girl ; yet you do look like Patience 
gazing on kings' graves, and smiling Extremity out of act. 
How lost you your name, my most kind virgin ? Recount 
your story, I beseech you. Come, sit by me." How was 
Pericles surprised when she said her name was Marina, 
for he knew it was no usual name, but had been invented 
by himself for his own child to signify seaborn: " O, I am 
mocked," said he, " and you are sent hither by some in- 
censed god to make the world laugh at me." " Patience, 
good sir," said Marina, "or I must cease here." "Nay," 



Pericles 317 

said Pericles, " I will be patient ; you little know how you 
do startle me, to call yourself Marina." "The name," she 
replied, " was given me by one that had some power, my 
father, and a king." "How, a king's daughter!" said 
Pericles, " and called Marina ! But are you flesh and 
blood ? Are you no fairy ? Speak on ; where were you 
born ? and wherefore called Marina ? " She replied, " I 
was called Marina, because I was born at sea. My mother 
was the daughter of a king ; she died the minute I was 
born, as my good nurse Lychorida has often told me weep- 
ing. The king, my father, left me at Tarsus, till the cruel 
wife of Cleon sought to murder me. A crew of pirates 
came and rescued me, and brought me here to Mitylene. 
But, good sir, why do you weep ? It may be, you think 
me an impostor. But, indeed, sir, I am the daughter to 
king Pericles, if good king Pericles be living." Then 
Pericles, terrified as he seemed at his own sudden joy, and 
doubtful if this could be real, loudly called for his attend- 
ants, who rejoiced at the sound of their beloved king's 
voice ; and he said to Helicanus, " O Helicanus, strike me, 
give me a gash, put me to present pain, lest this great sea 
of joys rushing upon me, overbear the shores of my mor- 
tality. O, come hither, thou that wast born at sea, buried 
at Tarsus, and found at sea again. O Helicanus, down on 
your knees, thank the holy gods ! This is Marina. Now 
blessings on thee, my child ! Give me fresh garments, 
mine own Helicanus ! She is not dead at Tarsus, as she 
should have been by the savage Dionysia. She shall tell 
you all, when you shall kneel to her, and call her your very 
princess. Who is this ? " (observing Lysimachus for the 
first time). " Sir," said Helicanus, " it is the governor of 
Mitylene, who, hearing of your melancholy, came to see 
you." " I embrace you, sir," said Pericles. " Give me 
my robes! I am well with beholding — O, Heaven bless 



31 8 Tales from Shakspeare 

my girl! But hark, what music is that?" — for now, 
either sent by some kind god, or by his own delighted 
fancy deceived, he seemed to hear soft music. " My lord, 
I hear none," replied Helicanus. "None?" said Pericles ; 
"why, it is the music of the spheres." As there was no 
music to be heard, Lysimachus concluded that the sudden 
joy had unsettled the prince's understanding ; and he said, 
" It is not good to cross him : let him have his way : " and 
then they told him they heard the music ; and he now 
complaining of a drowsy slumber coming over him, Lysim- 
achus persuaded him to rest on a couch, and placing a 
pillow under his head, he, quite overpowered with excess 
of joy, sank into a sound sleep, and Marina watched in 
silence by the couch of her sleeping parent. 

While he slept, Pericles dreamed a dream which made 
him resolve to go to Ephesus. His dream was, that Diana, 
the goddess of the Ephesians, appeared to him, and com- 
manded him to go to her temple at Ephesus, and there 
before her altar to declare the story of his life and misfor- 
tunes; and by her silver bow she swore, that if he performed 
her injunction, he should meet with some rare felicity. 
When he awoke, being miraculously refreshed, he told his 
dream, and that his resolution was to obey the bidding of 
the goddess. 

Then Lysimachus invited Pericles to come on shore, 
and refresh himself with such entertainment as he should 
find at Mitylene, which courteous offer Pericles accepting, 
agreed to tarry with him for the space of a day or two. 
During which time we may well suppose what f eastings, 
what rejoicings, what costly shows and entertainments the 
governor made in Mitylene, to greet the royal father of 
his dear Marina, whom in her obscure fortunes he had so 
respected. Nor did Pericles frown upon Lysimachus' 
suit, when he understood how he had honored his child 



Pericles 



3 l 9 



in the days of her low estate, and that Marina showed her- 
self not averse to his proposals ; only he made it a condi- 
tion, before he gave his consent, that they should visit with 
him the shrine of the Ephesian Diana : to whose temple 
they shortly after all three undertook a voyage ; and, the 
goddess herself filling their sails with prosperous winds, 
after a few weeks they arrived in safety at Ephesus. 

There was standing near the altar of the goddess, when 
Pericles with his train entered the temple, the good Ceri- 
mon (now grown very aged) who had restored Thaisa, the 
wife of Pericles, to life ; and Thaisa, now a priestess of the 
temple, was standing before the altar ; and though the 
many years he had passed in sorrow for her loss had much 
altered Pericles, Thaisa thought she knew her husband's 
features, and when he approached the altar and began to 
speak, she remembered his voice, and listened to his words 
with wonder and a joyful amazement. And these were 
the words that Pericles spoke before the altar : " Hail, 
Diana! to perform thy just commands, I here confess my- 
self the prince of Tyre, who, frighted from my country, at 
Pentapolis wedded the fair Thaisa ; she died at sea and 
left a maid-child called Marina. She at Tarsus was nursed 
with Dionysia, who at fourteen years thought to kill her, 
but her better stars brought her to Mitylene, by whose 
shores as I sailed, her good fortunes brought this maid 
on board, where by her most clear remembrance she made 
herself known to be my daughter." 

Thaisa, unable to bear the transports which his words 
had raised in her, cried out, " You are, you are, O royal 
Pericles" — and fainted. "What means this woman?" 
said Pericles : " She dies ! gentlemen, help." — " Sir," said 
Cerimon, " if you have told Diana's altar true, this is your 
wife." "Reverend gentleman, no;" said Pericles; "I 
threw her overboard with these very arms." Cerimon 



320 Tales from Shakspeare 

then recounted how, early one tempestuous morning, this 
lady was thrown upon the Ephesian shore ; how, opening 
the coffin, he found therein rich jewels and a paper; how, 
happily, he recovered her, and placed her here in Diana's 
temple. And now, Thaisa being restored from her swoon 
said, " O my lord, are you not Pericles ? Like him you 
speak, like him you are. Did you not name a tempest, a 
birth, and death?" He, astonished, said, "The voice of 
dead Thaisa!" "That Thaisa am I," she replied, "sup- 
posed dead and drowned." " O true Diana ! " exclaimed 
Pericles, in a passion of devout astonishment. "And 
now," said Thaisa, " I know you better. Such a ring as I 
see on your finger did the king my father give you, when 
we with tears parted from him at Pentapolis." "Enough, 
you gods!" cried Pericles, "your present kindness makes 
my past miseries sport. O come, Thaisa, be buried a sec- 
ond time within these arms." 

And Marina said, " My heart leaps to be gone into my 
mother's bosom." Then did Pericles show his daughter 
to her mother, saying, " Look who kneels here, flesh of thy 
flesh, thy daughter of the sea, and called Marina, because 
she was born there." " Blessed and my own ! " said Thaisa : 
and while she hung in rapturous joy over her child, Pericles 
knelt before the altar, saying, " Pure Diana, bless thee for 
thy vision. For this I will offer oblations nightly to 
thee." And then and there did Pericles, with the consent 
of Thaisa, solemnly affiance their daughter, the virtuous 
Marina, to the well-deserving Lysimachus in marriage. 

Thus have we seen in Pericles, his queen, and daughter, 
a famous example of virtue assailed by calamity (through 
the sufferance of Heaven, to teach patience and constancy 
to men), under the same guidance becoming finally suc- 
cessful, and triumphing over chance and change. In 
Helicanus we have beheld a notable pattern of truth, of 



Pericles 321 

faith, and loyalty, who, when he might have succeeded to 
a throne, chose rather to recall the rightful owner to his 
possession than to become great by another's wrong. In 
the worthy Cerimon, who restored Thaisa to life, we are 
instructed how goodness directed by knowledge, in be- 
stowing benefits upon mankind, approaches to the nature 
of the gods. It only remains to be told, that Dionysia, 
the wicked wife of Cleon, met with an end proportionable 
to her deserts ; the inhabitants of Tarsus, when her cruel 
attempt upon Marina was known, rising in a body to re- 
venge the daughter of their benefactor, and setting fire to 
the palace of Cleon, burnt both him and her, and their 
whole household : the gods seeming well pleased that so 
foul a murder, though but intentional, and never carried 
into act, should be punished in a way befitting its enor- 
mity. 



NOTE 

Charles Lamb was born in London in 1775, and died in 1834. 
He was educated partly at Christ's Hospital, an ancient institution 
founded by King Edward VI. of England. Its scholars to-day 
still wear the costume of the period when it was founded, and in 
the streets of London one often meets boys with no caps on their 
heads, long blue coats reaching far below the knees, yellow 
stockings, and low shoes with metal buckles. These are the boys 
of Christ's Hospital. Lamb did not remain to qualify himself 
for the Church, for which he was unfitted by his insurmountable 
stammer. 

The greater part of his life was spent in poverty, and was 
devoted to the care of his sister Mary, who early showed symp- 
toms of madness, and was subject to temporary attacks all her life. 
He renounced his hope of marriage for her sake. He began to 
write verses at the age of twenty, but it was fourteen years later 
before he achieved a literary success with the " Tales from Shak- 
speare," his sister Mary telling the story of the Comedies, and Lamb 
himself of the Tragedies. The first edition of the " Tales from 
Shakspeare " was issued in 1807, and was printed by Thomas 
Hodgkins at the Juvenile Library, Hanway Street. The illustra- 
tions were by the painter Mulready, who did much work of the 
same kind for the booksellers at this period of his career. Neither 
on the title-page nor in the preface to this first edition did Mary , 
Lamb's name appear. The book was simply entitled, " Tales from 
Shakspeare, designed for the use of Young Persons, by Charles 
Lamb." 

They also wrote together two other books for children, " Mrs. 
Leicester's School " and " Poetry for the Children." Then followed 
from his own pen "The Adventures of Ulysses." Literary fame 
came to Lamb later through his " Essays of Elia," and other books. 



Note 

Perhaps the best biography of Lamb is to be found in his writ- 
ings. They are chiefly in the form of personal confidences, which 
make his individuality more familiar to the reader than scarcely 
any other writer has succeeded in doing, while his letters form 
the most fascinating body of correspondence to be found in our 
language. 



PRONOUNCING VOCABULARY OF PROPER 

NAMES. 



Ad-ri-an'-a. 

Ae-ge'-on. 

Al-ci-bi'-a-des. 

A-li-e'-na. 

An-tig'-o-nus. 

An-ti'-o-ehus. 

An-tiph'-o-lus. 

An-to'-ni-o. 

Ar'-a-gon. 

A'-ri-el. 

Bal-tha-sar'. 

Ban'-quo (Ban'-kwo). 

Bas-sa'-ni-o. 

Be'-a-trice. 

Bel-la'-ri-o. 

Ben'-e-dick. 

Bi-an'-ca. 

Bo-ra 7 -ehi-o. 

Cal'-i-ban. 

Ca-mil'-lo. 

Cap'-u-let. 

Ce-sa'-ri-o. 

Clau'-di-o. 

Cle-om'-e-nes. 

De-me'-tri-us. 

Des'-de-mo'-na. 

Di-o-nys'-i-a. 

Dor'-i-cles. 



Dro'-mi-o. 

E-ge'-us. 

Eg'-la-mour. 

Eph'-e-sus. 

Ep-i-dam'-num. 

Fle'-ance. 

Flor'-i-zel. 

Gan'-y-me'-de. 

Ger-ard' de Nar-bon'. 

Gon'-e-ril. 

Gon-za'-go. 

Gon-za 7 -lo. 

Gra-ti-a'-no (Gra-shi- 

a'-no). 
Hel'-e-na. 
Her'-mi-a. 
Her-mi'-o-ne. 
I -a 7 -go (E-a'-go). 
La-er'-te§. 
La-feu'. 
Le-o-na'-to. 
Le-on'-tes. 
Lu-cet'-ta. 
Lu-ci-a'-nus. 
Ly-chor'-i-da. 
Ly-sim'-a-ehus. 
Ly-san'-der. 
Mam-il'-lus. 



Ma-ri'-na. 

Mil'-an. 

Mit-y-le'-ne. 

Ne-ris'-sa. 

Ob'-e-ron. 

Or-si'-no. 

Per'-di-ta. 

Per'-i-cles. 

Pe-tru'-ehi-o. 

Po-lix'-e-nes. 

Pros'-pe-ro. 

Pro'-te-us. 

Ri-al'-to. 

R6s-a-]ind. 

Rou-sil-lon' (Roo'-se'- 

yon'). 
Se-bas'-tian. 
Si-mon'-i-des. 
Syc'-o-rax. 

Tha-i'-sa (Tha-e'sa). 
Thu'-ri-o. 
Tyb'-alt. 
Ur'-su-la. 
Val'-en-tine. 
Ven-tid'-i-us. 
Vi'-o-la. 



SEP 25 1901 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




014 106 752 7 



